


the dance we shouldn't do

by norikae



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Universe Alteration, as in, company mandated fanservice, idolverse, obviously for this to work they do not have a good relationship at the beginning of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norikae/pseuds/norikae
Summary: (Reuploaded. See Chapter 1 notes for further details.)Word has it that the Twitter grapevine thinks that Scorpios are sexy - so the powers that be decide to make use of this in deciding the subjects of this comeback's company mandated fanservice couple. The problem is, Kihyun and Minhyuk hate each other.Oh, dear.
Relationships: Lee Minhyuk/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	the dance we shouldn't do

**Author's Note:**

> You might have read this fic when it was initially uploaded in January 2019. I took it down when... things happened in October 2019, but I've decided to put it back up (completely unedited from the original) because the Fantasia X unit teaser made me mildly delirious.
> 
> Mind the rating, and I hope you enjoy.

On the periphery of his phone screen, he can sense somebody approaching. Minhyuk ignores the looming shadow in favour of jabbing haphazardly, bent on taking over the gym. He is about to claim victory when slender, long fingers encroach upon his vision and steal his phone from his grasp.

Left suddenly bereft, Minhyuk lets out an indignant squawk. “ _Hyungwon_ ,” he bites out, more huffily than anything, when his vision refocuses and he’s faced with his new archnemesis, smug with Minhyuk’s phone between his disturbingly long fingers. Creepily disproportionate bastard.

“Play something a little higher level,” Hyungwon snorts, even as he tosses the device back, making Minhyuk scramble to catch between his hands. “And shove over. I wanna sit.”

Obligingly, and quickly appeased, Minhyuk scoots further down the couch, still horizontal, and raises his upper torso marginally, propping himself up backwards on his elbows so an adequately beanpole-like creature could potentially situate himself in the narrow space afforded. He beams, bright as ever.

Hyungwon looks at him blandly, and does not move.

Very deliberately, Minhyuk cranes his head backwards to look at the sliver of couch, then glances back towards Hyungwon, raising his eyebrows purposefully so they disappear under his unstyled, frizzy hair.

If anything, Hyungwon’s gaze grows duller, the life draining completely out of his expression.

Minhyuk wriggles a solid two centimetres further down, and bats his lashes.

Making a sound like all of the wind simultaneously exiting an untuned bagpipe, Hyungwon nonetheless concedes, and plops himself unceremoniously down in the offered spot. He smacks Minhyuk’s head lightly as he, too, takes out his phone, the cheery theme of _Battle Cats_ blaring out loud before he turns down the volume.

Like this they lapse into silence, a content hour or so of unwinding after a long day of practice.

Then Minhyuk blinks away from his screen at the sound of familiar footsteps. “Hyung,” he greets cheerfully, “How was the meeting?”

Hyunwoo stares at him for a beat, then two, like he’s processing the question. He licks his lips slowly, clearly thinking through something. “No, uh, listen, have you seen Kihyun?” He glances away for a moment to acknowledge Hyungwon’s lazy twiddle of fingers in his general direction, then returns his regard to Minhyuk, oddly serious.

Minhyuk scrunches up his face, not hiding his distaste, then hauls himself into a sitting position, setting his phone aside as he does. “No, does it matter?” he gripes, instinctively punching Hyungwon in the shoulder when he heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief at Minhyuk’s head leaving his lap.

Hyunwoo furrows his brow, opening his mouth like he’s about to berate Minhyuk for his animosity, but closes it, evidently thinking better of wasting his energy at the last second. Instead he glances distractedly at his phone screen again. “It... kind of does,” he says, slowly.

Sharply, Hyungwon shifts closer to Minhyuk and joins him in squinting suspiciously at their leader. “Instructions from the managers?” he queries, jostling Minhyuk lightly when he rests his chin happily on his shoulder, but lowering it to his height anyway.

Hyunwoo’s face assumes a total blankness. Bingo. “You could say that,” he sighs, tapping out a quick message on his phone. “Ah, he says he’s at the studio.” He turns to leave, then suddenly stops dead in his tracks, turning back and gesturing towards Minhyuk. “Come with me.”

“What?” Minhyuk sputters, “What business could you have with _him_ that involves _me?_ ”

“You’ll see,” Hyunwoo mutters, almost ominously. “You’ll see.”

-

“Absolutely not,” Minhyuk says, as loudly as he can without encroaching upon Outside Voice territory. “There is no way. Not with him. Never. Anyone but him. I will voluntarily give Kkung a lap dance if the powers that be will it, but there is one thing I will not do, and it is _that_.”

Beside him, Kihyun is still, uncharacteristically silent. Minhyuk doesn’t look at him as he continues his tirade. “There are seven of us, hyung, can’t you just - I don’t know - tell them no?” His voice sounds harsh in the soundproofed studio, edges too sharp to manoeuvre a conversation with any grace. Awkwardly, he pushes the pair of headphones lying on the table further inwards, relishing in the company of the loud scrape.

Hyunwoo sighs, and shifts his hand to his forehead, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he exhales as evenly as he can manage. “I suggested that it was a bad idea, Minhyuk. Multiple times. Management was adamant on it.”

Minhyuk is close to pulling his hair out with frustration. “But I don’t - !” A quick glance sideways reveals Kihyun’s sombre profile, strangely tight-lipped; reluctantly he forces himself to quiet, not wanting to look immature. “I don’t understand,” he tries again, and cannot help the puerile whine that leaks into the last syllable. “Why me and him?”

At this, Hyunwoo’s expression finally cracks, revealing a first smidgen of good humour. “They said,” he tells him, “That Scorpios are sexy.”

It might be the dumbest thing Minhyuk has ever heard, and he’s borne witness to Hyungwon when freshly woken up. He makes sure the sentiment is clear on his face. “The what is what now.”

Hyunwoo shrugs. “I think they got it from Twitter,” he hedges, and unfolds a few sheets of paper from his pocket, handing one sheet to him and Kihyun each. “It’s not anything out of the ordinary, at least.”

Scanning the paper in his hands, Minhyuk feels an unpleasant emotion crawling up his throat. The tasks are nothing he isn’t used to with anyone else, but - “ _Hyung_ ,” he tries, one last time, “Can I - Can I _please_ not do it?”

This time Hyunwoo’s gaze is firm, even as he looks apologetic. “Be professional, Minhyuk,” he chides gently, glancing inconspicuously over at the third person in the room. “It comes with the job.”

Then he stands up, dusting invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “I’ll leave the two of you to it, then.” Minhyuk watches dolefully as their leader manages to make a wave look dismissive but also placating, eyes tracing the trail he leaves as the door swings shut behind him.

All of a sudden the studio is deafeningly silent. Minhyuk slouches in his chair all the way, watching his legs lengthen onto the floor. For a while he contents himself with staring at his flexed feet as he sways them side to side, considering.

“Well,” he says eventually, after the air gets too heavy, “...Wanna make out?”

It's a joke; he would never willingly kiss his not-Hyungwon bandmates (they grew up together, okay. Things have happened). But it jolts Kihyun out of whatever shock-induced trance he had been sitting in; suddenly his brows are knitted together, his mouth twisting in on itself so much he looks like a prune, his tiny hands balling into fists in his lap.

“You're not as funny as you think you are,” Kihyun lashes out, biting. Then abruptly he stands up with an unearthly screech of chair on floor, eyes hard as he glares at Minhyuk. “Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

With that he spins on his heel and leaves the room, nearly slamming the door behind him. Minhyuk lets out a half snort of disbelief when, at the last minute, a short-fingered hand is visible catching the doorknob from the other side, neatly pulling it closed the last few inches so it doesn't bang. Unbelievable.

“Well,” he mutters to himself, sighing as he leans back in the chair, “That certainly went about as well as expected.”

-

_TOP SECRET Fanservice Tasks for YOO KIHYUN X LEE MINHYUK_

_(Do NOT spread!!!!)_

_Post a selfie together_

_Praise the other member in fansign questions_

_Do something cute together at a fansign_

_~~Accidentally” drop the tissue during Tissue Paper Kiss~~ _

_Joint V-Live_

_Be seen outside together_

-

_Post a selfie together_

He doesn’t know when it started. There’s just always been something about Kihyun that rubs him the wrong way. Makes him feel like a cat being petted on its stomach by a stranger. Sits weirdly, like a puzzle piece being jabbed into the wrong place. They're just distinctly incompatible, in the same way a prey animal could never be friends with a p-

“Hyung,” Jooheon is saying patiently, “If you keep doing that your forehead is going to wrinkle and ruin all the hard work in your skin routine. Are you sure you want that?”

Instantly Minhyuk is shaken out of his reverie, the garbage truck of his mind unloading his consciousness into the landfill of the present. “What?” he says, intelligently.

“Your face,” Jooheon repeats, long used to his absentmindedness. “Scrunched. Skin. Not good.” His hands move in vague accompaniment as he does so, illustrative in a manner that Minhyuk would be offended by if it didn't actually help him focus.

“Oh,” he says, relaxing all his facial muscles at once. “Thanks, Honey, you're the best.”

Jooheon hums distractedly in response to the praise, as if to say _I know._ But then he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows inquiringly. “So what was it?”

Ah. “What?” Minhyuk asks, pretending not to understand the question. “What was what?”

Jooheon leans further over the side of the couch he's perched on, and leans his face easily into the palm of his hand, propping himself up. “You were like, daydreaming or something,” he supplies. “What got you looking all distant and dreamy like that?” To accent his point, he wriggles his eyebrows just a little bit, like there's something he thinks he needs to know.

Minhyuk isn't sure if he pales or goes red with indignation. All he knows is that he most likely completely blacks out for a moment; the next, he's trying to speak around the cough that he can't suppress in his throat. “I was - I was not,” he protests. “I did _not_ look any of those things -”

“You can't see your own face, though,” Jooheon points out mildly, even as his eyes narrow just a fraction. “Why the denial? Now I want to know even m - Oh, hey hyung.”

Minhyuk freezes at the shadow that has fallen over them both. Slowly he turns his head to look. Sure enough, Kihyun is standing there, expression unreadable except for a slight curl to his mouth, phone clutched in one hand. A stylist swoops up to him and briskly adjusts a lock of hair in his fringe, spraying it down before leaving as quickly as she'd entered. His face doesn't change at all throughout the entire process.

_Ugh, creepy._

“Hey Jooheon,” Kihyun replies, flashing the younger a blinding smile that is easily reciprocated. Then he turns towards Minhyuk with his body, although his gaze and head appear to be pointed approximately thirty degrees left of Minhyuk's face when he speaks. “Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk raises his brows. “Kihyun,” he acknowledges cautiously. Opens his mouth to ask why he's here, then immediately closes it, opting instead to wait for an explanation. He may or may not be enjoying watching Kihyun’s discomfort.

The shadow cast over them shifts left, and then right. “There's twenty five minutes until we're up,” he starts.

Minhyuk looks up. From here the line of Kihyun's nose is strikingly evident, and it fills him with a slight irritation. He checks his phone clock, which says _5.35 am._ On the dot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then he juts out his lower lip a little, as if to say, _And what about it?_

“You're not doing anything important,” Kihyun says lamely, and it makes Minhyuk’s hackles rise, the way he just assumes he knows what's going on. He's right, but still.

So he protests. “You don't know that.” Minhyuk is petulant, frowning up at the standing figure. He very resolutely ignores the single eyebrow Jooheon raises at him.

Kihyun sighs then, folding his arms together across his chest. “Okay. My bad. Are you?”

He hadn't expected that. “No,” Minhyuk admits truthfully. He scrambles to continue. “But that doesn't mean you can just - just come and get on my case for sitting around when everyone's doing the same!”

“I - what?” The tight, pinched look on Kihyun's face loosens in what appears to be genuine surprise, before he sinks his face into one palm, letting out a groan that sounds a lot like _Seriously._ When he looks up Jooheon spares him an apologetic smile. Kihyun breathes in slowly - Minhyuk waiting impatiently - before speaking again.

“You're right,” he starts, “Or would be. Except that wasn't what I was going to say.” Now his mouth is doing that thing again, twisting in upon itself with something Minhyuk thinks is closely akin to disdain. “If you had just listened for two seconds you'd have let me finish. And you would know that I just wanted to ask you to take a photo together.”

Jooheon is looking between the two of them now, visibly torn between leaving a strange situation and hanging around to see what happens. Suspicious, Minhyuk squints at Kihyun until his vision nearly disappears. “Why?”

Kihyun rolls his eyes so thoroughly Minhyuk is convinced he must practice his technique in the mirror when he's alone. It wouldn't be out of character. “Because it's our job, and I'd rather get it done sooner than later.”

 _Oh, right._ “Oh, right,” Minhyuk says, shooting Jooheon a look that says he'll explain later. “Well, why didn't you say so earlier?”

He follows up with a laugh that is both too loud and too bright, then scoots in on the side of the small bench he's sitting on, patting the space next to him grandly. “C'mere, then!”

Kihyun looks at him like lemon juice has been liberally coated on his tongue but he's trying not to let anyone know. But if there was anything he wanted to say, it doesn't make its way out of his mouth; after a beat Kihyun does make his way over, sitting down with a safe gap between them both.

Then he's holding his hand out expectantly. “Your phone,” he says, when Minhyuk stares dumbly at him. “I'm not clogging up mine with your face.”

“I could say the same,” Minhyuk starts, but quickly abandons his protest, finding that he doesn't have the energy to mount a proper objection. He roots around in his pocket, pulling out his phone and instinctively tapping Snow open. “Ah. Here.”

Kihyun takes it with very little fuss and a small nod which might almost be taken to mean _thanks_. “Which filter should we use,” he mumbles, scrolling through the different tabs available. Minhyuk instinctively leans over and into his space; from here he can count Kihyun's lashes. They're so _long_.

“This one?” Kihyun holds up the phone in front of them both, angling it in the way they all favour. On-screen, their reflections move with their heads, a split second slower and with puppy ears flopping adorably, nestled in their hair.

Minhyuk tries it out, tilting his head right, and then left. The spotted ears track his head dutifully, a series of small pink pawprints blinking in and out of existence by his jaw. He looks cute.

“You look cute,” Kihyun says. Minhyuk whips his head around at the comment, but there's a _click_ as he’s turning, eyes wide.

Then Kihyun is laughing to himself as he examines the photo. “Pay attention, dude.” Minhyuk catches sight of his own slightly frantic expression, head blur as he looks at Kihyun, whose face is schooled into a perfect selfie-ready expression.

Embarrassed, Minhyuk scowls. “Count down properly, will you? I wasn't ready.”

Kihyun eyes him sideways. “Like I said,” he drawls, mouth curled into a grin, “Pay attention.”

But this time when he holds the phone up in front of them both he does wait, tilting his head in towards Minhyuk's as they both smile for the camera. “Three... two... one.” _Click!_

Dropping his arm, Kihyun evaluates the retaken photo. Their images are seated so closely as to be in each others’ space, heads at mirror angles, smiles blinding. Kihyun had timed the shot so the pink pawprints are fully laid out along the side of their faces; by all accounts, it's a good photo.

“Nice,” he mutters to himself, opening the band's Twitter account as he does. Then he's typing something into the compose tweet field, phone tilted at an angle so Minhyuk can see, too.

_[Kihyun] Monbebe, are you staying warm? Take care of yourselves in the worsening cold! We'll work hard, too!_

Humming, he attaches the just-taken picture, then hits _tweet_. Done, he passes the phone back to Minhyuk, and stands up, dusting his pants off conspicuously as he does so. “Thanks,” he does say, before heading off to the other side of the room, where Hoseok can be seen leaning back and mouthing something to him.

“What was that about?” Jooheon finally breaks his silence, eyes round with curiosity. Minhyuk takes a while to answer, distracted by clicking through his phone gallery to inspect the earlier photo.

“Oh, right. Didn't you know?” Minhyuk mutters absently. “We're It for this round's company mandated fanservice.” He's looking at the picture. He certainly is.

Jooheon is still talking. “You two? You wouldn't touch each other if you could help it!” His incredulity mirrors much of Minhyuk's own.

“Yeah, well,” Minhyuk says, eyes still fixed on the photo, thumb hovering over the _delete_ button. “Suppose this is one of those cases where we can't help it, ya know?”

Did he really look at Kihyun like that?

“Thanks for taking one for the team anyway, hyung,” Jooheon chirps. He stands up and pats Minhyuk on the shoulder comfortingly. “It's just one comeback. Fighting!”

“Monsta X, you're on stage in five. Monsta X!”

The call of a harried stage manager interrupts Minhyuk's haze. He nods to Jooheon to go on ahead, scrambling to get himself together. He doesn't delete the photo.

-

-

Minhyuk is lying face-down on his mattress when Hoseok comes into the room, freshly showered after a workout. He's towelling off his hair, wide expanses of creamy pale skin on display but for the towel knotted loosely around his hips when Minhyuk rolls over abruptly to squint at him, disgruntled.

“Hi, Min,” Hoseok greets cheerfully. “Not playing any games at the moment?”

Minhyuk grunts.

“I said I was sorry for messing up your MMR that one time, didn't I?” Hoseok laughs, going to the wardrobe to pull out a muscle tank that he pulls over his head.

Minhyuk makes another noise.

“Oh, not that? What's on your mind, the - _don't look, I'm pantsless_ \- what's on your mind?”

Minhyuk lets out an almighty harrumph, and rolls over back onto his front, sinking his face into his pillow with a sigh.

“ _Ah_ ,” Hoseok says knowingly, coming over to the bed and whipping Minhyuk in the calf with his towel. “This is about the thing with Kihyunnie, isn't it?”

A moment passes before Minhyuk finally opens his mouth. His words are half lost to the pillow when he speaks. “Don't call him that,” he gripes. “Makes him sound cute.”

Fully dressed, Hoseok gently taps Minhyuk on the calf to get him to move, sitting in the narrow space allowed when Minhyuk does roll over amidst a series of further pathetic noises. He stretches backwards, leaning backwards on both hands, and his mouth is curved into that adorable smile he has when he says, “He is, though. Kihyunnie is just so tiny and small.”

As expected, the comment elicits a thunderous groan from Minhyuk, who rolls even further in on his bed, entangling himself so dreadfully in his sheets that he has become a burrito. “I cannot believe you would say such a thing to me,” he wails, “While I am right here, on this earth, existing before your eyes.”

Hoseok giggles again. “Would you say I’m wrong?”

Accepting his fate in the blanket bundle, Minhyuk takes his time burrowing deeper into it, assuming an extremely wormlike visage when he replies, “I don’t know. I can’t see his _face_ beyond his _massive attitude problem_.” When Hoseok looks over, amused, he pokes his head out from his cushy carapace just enough to stick out his tongue, eyes scrunched.

“He’s really not that bad, you know,” Hoseok hums, crawling closer to the Minhyuk-worm and petting him lightly on the head. “Ki is really caring when it comes down to it. And he’s funny, too, when he wants to be.”

Obstinately, Minhyuk wriggles for a bit, adjusting them both so that his head is lying squarely in Hoseok’s lap. He curls himself into something resembling a grubby crescent when he pouts, “Then _you_ can do fanservice with him. I’ve completed _one_ task and I’m already done, I swear.”

“Aww, Min.” The hand in his hair runs smoothly, now, fingertips applying a light pressure to his bleach-damaged scalp. “You don’t have to hate it so much. It’ll get better, and even if it doesn’t it’s only like, two months.”

Minhyuk turns his face to squint sullenly up at Hoseok. He finds that Hoseok is, unsurprisingly and completely unfairly, still attractive even upside down. “That’s one fifth of the gestation period of a baby whale. We could be having _good things_ with that time.” He drops his head back down, and burrows it into Hoseok’s thigh. Aloud, he bemoans the state of his being. “Instead I have to _suffer_.”

Hoseok does laugh aloud at this, and it pleases Minhyuk, even if Hoseok laughs at a lot of things. It’s nice to feel wanted. “Okay, okay,” he says, placating, resting a hand on Minhyuk’s shoulder. “How about, if you do your best, I treat you to a meal after all this?”

The Min-worm lifts itself off Hoseok’s lap and rears backwards in one smooth motion, surging closer again to look him dead in the eye. “What meal?”

“Any meal.” Hoseok grins again. “Of your choice.”

Grub-like, Minhyuk gives it consideration. “And you’ll come with me?” Hoseok opens his mouth to protest, and he cuts in. “I can’t just eat delicious food alone! That would be so sad.” Batting his eyelashes, he continues, “And don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Hoseok grumbles a little bit. “Fine,” he says, “But you have to _really_ give it a try. And try to be nicer to Ki, too. Maybe you’ll find he’s better than you think he is.” The tone of his voice tells Minhyuk that he’s positive this is the case.

“It’s a deal,” Minhyuk promises aloud, anyway.

“Okay, promise.” Then Hoseok gently removes his head from his lap, and stands up, ready to go and memorise the names of proteins or whatever it is he does in his beautiful, muscular free time. From behind him there is the sound of rustling, and then a loud, magnificent _thump_.

Hoseok turns around to see Minhyuk lying on the floor, helplessly cocooned. He wriggles about for a while, then, looking for all the world like a specimen trying to make its way towards the surface of the dirt. “Uh. Hyung?”

Hoseok snorts. He knows what’s coming, but asks like he doesn’t, anyway. “Yes?”

A very small voice drifts towards him. “Help me out.”

Hoseok pretends to think about it for a while, as if he’s really, actually going to do it. It’s what he should do, really, as an older brother figure who cares about his members. He did just spend a while bonding and talking to Minhyuk about his problems. It would really only be natural for him to follow through with his role.

“Nah,” Hoseok chirps, and skips out of the room, leaving the Min-worm forlorn on the floor behind him.

-

_2\. Praise the other member in fansign questions_

The COEX fansign venue is grand enough, at least. Minhyuk comforts himself with this knowledge as he sulks in his seat, eyes shut while makeup is skilfully applied to his eyelids.

“Stop pouting, you’re messing up the lines of your face.” The handle of a brush lightly swats at his temple, and Minhyuk relaxes his features in a hurry, afraid of his stylist’s wrath.

“Sorry, Jieun-noona,” he mumbles, trying to hold still as she moves on to contouring. “I’m just… thinking about stuff.”

“What stuff?” she asks, brush hovering across his cheekbone. “Whatever could it possibly be that has my favourite male idol all upset?”

Minhyuk’s eyes fly open as he grins up at her. “Really? I’m your favourite?”

With a tsk, she gingerly touches the side of his head with the handle of his brush and uses it to turn his head towards the angle she wants. “No,” she deadpans, flatly. “Nobody can hold a candle to SHINee’s Minho in my heart. But you’re alright, I guess.”

She laughs when his face falls, dabbing shimmer powder onto the tip of his nose in consolation. “So what’s got your goat?”

Minhyuk mumbles “Chupacabra” under his breath, instinctively. Out loud, he says, “Just… Noona, how do you say nice things about someone you don’t like?”

“Hmm,” she says, completely unfazed. He opens his eyes cautiously and peers up at her as she seems to think, picking up a blush palette and eyeing the colours against his skin as she does. “Do you know this person well?” In all her tact, she avoids the obvious questions of why and who, and Minhyuk privately feels grateful.

“Well,” he starts, biting on his lip instinctively until she taps him on the jaw in warning. He thinks of the way Kihyun is extra-grouchy in the mornings if they don’t cooperate with him, how he’s always on top of their schedules and has the answers when asked. His methodical labelling of the jars in the kitchen, all the snacks he’s made for the members when requested. “I mean… yes.”

She hums in consideration as she selects a lip tint and unscrews the cap, brush poised against his lips when she replies. “Then I’m sure you also know the nice things they’ve done, even if it’s not necessarily to you, right?”

Minhyuk’s answer is stifled by her nudging his mouth open and lining it with the brush. Directly in line with his line of sight is her eyebrow, quirked dramatically as if waiting for an answer. “...Ye,” he admits, unable to move his mouth very much while she's working on his face.

She seems to be able to understand him, anyway. “Then it shouldn't be terribly hard, hmm?”

Minhyuk tries his best not to move his mouth when he concedes, “Ah gess so.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Smudging the line of the tint, she leans back and regards him with a critical eye. “Looks good,” she says, and pats him out of the chair to go get his hair done. “Off you go.”

“Thanks, noona,” Minhyuk says as he gets up, obediently, meaning it in reference to more than the makeup.

She smiles at him, waving Hyungwon over for his turn. Her eyes crinkle with sincerity. “Don't mention it. Now go, your hair is dreadful and I don't want Hana to bitch me out for not giving her enough time. Shoo, shoo!”

He shoos.

-

It isn't long before the dreaded question does arrive before him. Minhyuk is happily squeezing the paws of a bunny hat, delighting in the swish of the ears to and fro atop his head, when a fan slides into the seat in front of him, smiling brightly and taking his hand.

“How are you doing?” he asks her, swinging their joined hands gently as he takes her album, glancing down at the post-it as he does.

The fan laughs, pushing her hair back with three hand that isn't holding his. “School's hard,” she confides, “But seeing Monsta X makes everything okay!”

She has a lovely smile. Minhyuk tells her so as he reads the post-it aloud.

_Minhyuk-oppa, which one of the members do you want to praise? Why?_

Ah. Internally, Minhyuk grimaces so severely he thinks his intestines must resemble a child who has eaten a lemon. Outwardly, he smiles sweetly as he pretends to think. “Who do you think it is?” he teases, waving the marker over the post-it.

The fan - Jiyoung, her post-it reads - pouts at him. “I don't know, that's why I'm asking you,” she complains. Minhyuk laughs with genuine delight at her response.

“Okay, okay,” he placates, pushing the album closer to her so she can read as he writes. “Ki..hyun...ie!” He recites each syllable as he writes it, knowing the fan is smiling as she watches.

“Why?” she says, finger encroaching in his vision and pointing at where she'd written the word on the post-it. “This is what I'm interested in!”

She sounds very intent on knowing. Unwilling to disappoint, Minhyuk mentally scratches his head as he considers what to write. He has to do this, after all, but he isn't exactly the biggest fan of lying. The question is how to fulfil his duty without being insincere about it.

Then Hoseok's words echo in his head. _Ki is really caring when it comes down to it_.

It wouldn’t be untrue in any sense; he’s seen the way Kihyun makes sure to pack extra pairs of lenses for Hyungwon when they go on schedules, it being public knowledge that his uncooked spaghetti strand of a best friend would forgo bringing anything altogether. He's often walked in on Jooheon or Changkyun snacking on a dish prepared by Kihyun at their request, even after a long day when all he must want to do is sleep. And he knows that Kihyun’s nagging is the only reason Hoseok ever gets any rest when he gets into one of his tireless workout moods.

All in, it’s something he has to admit. Minhyuk chews on his lip as he writes his answer, slower than he usually would. _He’s always looking out for all of the members and takes good care of us_. His pen hesitates on the last word, but he knows it would look bad if he excluded himself from the count, so it’s _us_ and not _them_ , after all.

Jiyoung’s eyes are gleaming as she reads over his answer. A manager appears behind Minhyuk, gesturing for the fans to move along. “Thanks, oppa,” she chirps, and as Minhyuk gives her a parting high five, he can’t help but wonder what the fan response will be.

-

“Hyung, what are you doing,” Changkyun deadpans, coming up to peer at him where he is curled up not at all suspiciously on the couch. “You look suspicious.”

Minhyuk curls up further, pulling his phone in to his chest. “Nothing,” he sings unconvincingly. “I am not in the least bit suspicious. Me?” He laughs, and it comes out higher than he'd expected or wanted. “Never!”

Changkyun tilts his head upwards and squints very firmly at Minhyuk down the high line of his nose. “I’m completely convinced,” he says. But instantly he drops it, and plops down on the other end of the couch sideways, stretching his legs out so his feet bump up against Minhyuk's thigh.

Minhyuk glances down, offended.”Go away,” he says.

Changkyun shoves his feet under Minhyuk, so they're sandwiched between his butt and the couch. He simpers. “No.”

Minhyuk sticks out his tongue. “Fine,” he says, and returns to his phone, watching Changkyun cautiously out of the corner of his eye. When he instantly proceeds to take a nap, Minhyuk deems it safe to tab back to his previous occupation, scrolling through the application in search of something very specific.

_twitter search: #MINHYUK #KIHYUN 181104_

Many of the entries in the search are fansite photos. Minhyuk absently checks to make sure he looks good in all of them, but they don’t disappoint, after all. After saving a few for, uh, reference, he finds that he doesn't have to thumb much further down before he finds what he's looking for.

_@ji112203young 181104 #KIHYUN #MINHYUK #MONSTA_X Look look!! Min-oppa chose Kihyunnie-oppa as the member he wants to praise! Ahh they're so cute…. Kihyuk is the best! (picture attached)_

Attached is an image of the very post-it he had written. The tweet has over two thousand retweets, and double that number in likes. Good old Jiyoung, alright. It’s not even her fault; how was she to know Minhyuk had handed her the weapon of his own undoing, and she had unwittingly pulled the trigger?

Hastily taking a screenshot for proof purposes, Minhyuk can't help but to scroll through the comments out of curiosity.

_@kyunkyun22 cute TT___TT_

_@150514love O.M.G. ive been waiting for this for years hahaha amazing_

_@creacher0115 wait??? but kihyunnie-oppa said this too???? HELP (quote RT)_

_@wonlove4you this is all i ever wanted thank u god….TTTTT_

The list of replies goes on. Minhyuk scans them over - he sees the words “cute” and “kihyuk” far more than he'd ever thought he would. In his life. _Is that really what they think?_ He frowns. They don’t even _talk_ if it’s avoidable. What do fans see that he doesn't?

Then, with a sputter of sudden activity, his brain registers something with a kick. Minhyuk rapidly scrolls back up to zero in on the tweet mentioning something Kiyhun had said. Tapping on the quoted tweet, he feels his eyes widen a little as he examines its content.

_@93zdaebak omg omg i cant believe it…. i asked kihyun-oppa who he thinks is most charming and he said minhyuk-oppa, because he's bright and lovely like the sun T_____T when i agreed he laughed and said “you think so too?” AHHH HE'S SO CUTE!!!! (picture attached)_

Something strange settles in Minhyuk's chest. Tapping on the photo to enlarge it reveals what is unmistakably Kihyun’s handwriting proclaiming _Minhyukkie! He’s bright and lovely like the sun_ accompanied by a poor doodle. Squinting at it and turning it this way and that, Minhyuk eventually concludes that it resembles a toddler’s most concerted impression of a sun with a whale splashing about underneath it.

 _Oh god_ , Minhyuk thinks, with dawning horror. _Hoseok-hyung was right. That **is** kind of cute_.

And then his pride and common sense pull up to the driveway of his conscious thought, dropkicking the momentary weakness out of the way. “No, no, _no_ ,” he says aloud, turning off his phone screen and tossing it onto the couch sideways. “He’s just hamming it up. It’s what he _does_.”

“ _Ow._ ” His phone is tossed back into his lap, bruising him in the stomach before bouncing off and landing against his thigh. “Who’s hamming what up, now?”

Ah. He’d completely forgotten Changkyun was there. Face having found its way to rest despairingly in his hands, Minhyuk peeks out at the younger boy between the vees of his fingers, blinking owlishly and not a little defensively at him. “Nothing,” he says, again, like repeating a flat denial makes it more true. “Nobody’s doing anything.”

Changkyun looks at him. His eyes do that thing where they close, then open, then close, and open again, and somehow look incredibly judgmental for all that they’re performing a perfectly regular activity. “But you just said somebody was hamming it u -”

“I never said that,” Minhyuk says quickly, scrambling off the couch. “You heard nothing from me. I wasn’t even here.”

Changkyun’s stare intensifies. The heavy, unbanked coals of his gaze fixate unerringly upon Minhyuk’s as he sinks downwards on the couch from a sitting position into one that is nearly entirely horizontal, claiming for his own the territory that has just been vacated by Minhyuk. When he has melted downwards enough, and his feet are hanging off the arm of the sofa while his head nestles in the opposing crook, he says, very solemnly, “Okay.”

Minhyuk shudders a little. “Why do you all have to be so creepy,” he says. Slowly, he begins to walk sideways out of the room.

Changkyun does smile at that, a very small one. It is somehow more threatening than if he had grinned normally. “Because we’re not men,” he says, “We’re monstas.”

His resounding, self-satisfied cackle haunts Minhyuk as he makes his hasty way out.

-

-

Minhyuk is seated in the kitchen close to midnight, moodily eating a bowl of cereal, when Hyungwon slinks in, catlike, and drapes himself across his back, weighing him down so much his chin nearly befriends the milk.

“Get _off_ ,” he whines, putting down his spoon so he can wrestle with the long-limbed creature tangled about his neck and shoulders. “You’re the heaviest stick insect known to mankind.”

Hyungwon obliges, only to gracefully pull the stool next to Minhyuk out with his foot and drop elegantly into it all in one smooth motion. It’s somewhat unsettling, considering Minhyuk has also seen Hyungwon trip over himself on level ground three times within a span of ten minutes on a day when he was well rested and awake. And to compound the eerieness of it all, when Minhyuk turns his head it is to find Hyungwon’s pressed right up in his personal space, round eyes wide and pronounced cupid’s bow knowing.

“I’m the _handsomest_ stick insect known to mankind,” Hyungwon says, chin resting solidly against Minhyuk’s shoulder. The position should be deeply uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to feel it, fluttering his lashes to accentuate his point.

Minhyuk slowly moves the shoulder up, and then back down. It does not dislodge Hyungwon from his perch. “That isn’t very hard,” he says slowly, “But sure, if you want to be.”

A beam breaks out on Hyungwon’s face at that, cottony and wide. “I do!” he pronounces, proudly, before opening his mouth like only so sentient a gaping maw. From beyond the black hole his eyes focus steadily on Minhyuk’s, a silent message of _feed me_.

Minhyuk rolls his eyes. “Get your own food,” he mutters, but does spoon a mouthful of cereal into Hyungwon’s mouth. For his efforts he receives a delighted noise and a few exaggerated _nyam nyam nyam_ sounds. Despite how put-upon he acts Minhyuk is about to send another cereal-aeroplane down the runway of Hyungwon’s mouth when there are soft footsteps padding into the kitchen.

_At this hour, there’s only one person it could be -_

“Oh, look at the time,” Hyungwon announces crunchily, suddenly regaining all of his bones and gathering himself together into a decidedly upright position. “I really have got to be going.” He scuttles to the doorway, and then turns around abruptly. In a stage whisper, he adds, “ _To bed_. Stick insects need their beauty sleep.”

Then he is gone, tripping liquidly down the corridor. Minhyuk digs the spoon back into his bowl with far more force than strictly required, comforting himself with the crisp sound. He’d wasted perfectly good cereal on that traitorous creature. Minhyuk stabs the cereal again, with great emotion. He is so bitter.

Out of the corner of his eye he watches as Kihyun steadily pretends he isn’t there, striding straight to the cupboards and taking out a frying pan and some cooking oil. He stares some more as Kihyun proceeds to the fridge to fetch some eggs, returning to the stove to turn on the fire, heating up the oil.

“You’re staring,” Kihyun says mildly, after a while. “Do you want some, too?”

His tone is decidedly void of any hostility. Taken off guard, Minhyuk hesitates a beat too long before saying, flustered, “N-no.” Internally he curses his stutter. “I'm good.”

Kihyun shrugs, prodding at the contents of the pan with a spatula. “Suit yourself.”

For a while there is not a word from either of them. The kitchen fills up with the sound of sizzling, the tantalising smell of fried eggs wafting through the room. It provides a nice counterpoint to the otherwise near silent slosh of Minhyuk's cereal, and the air that settles is almost comfortable.

Then Kihyun is plating the eggs and allowing the pan to cool, sliding into a seat diagonally opposite Minhyuk, fork at the ready. Minhyuk chances a glance at the plate.

Two sunny side ups beam back lovingly at him, gently crisped at the edges, yolks a succulent yellow. He can just see how, once burst, they would flow onto the plate, liquidly delicious. In other words, they're perfectly cooked.

_Typical._

“I know what you wrote at the fansign,” Minhyuk blurts out, mouth running faster than his brain. Kihyun's fork, halfway through his second bite, stills on its way to his mouth. He sets it down slowly on the plate with a loud _clink._

He speaks carefully when he asks. “How?”

Minhyuk flinches at the sound, but somehow can't look away from Kihyun, now that their lines of sight have intersected. “Uh,” he says. Well. He’s already given away too much. “I had to get proof I completed it,” he mutters, “Fan accounts are a thing.”

Kihyun nods slightly, breaking their eye contact in favour of making his way through the dish. When he cuts into the yolk, it is as golden and fluid as expected. Minhyuk chews on his lower lip.

“So how was it?”

Minhyuk startles. “How was what?”

Kihyun brings his fork to his mouth again, chewing without looking away. His mouth is distractingly pretty like this, pink and delicate like some kind of flower. Minhyuk hurriedly looks back to his bowl of cereal that is steadily growing soggier to break his own line of thought.

“How was the reception,” Kihyun clarifies, and it sounds so easy for him. Something about that grates.

“Monbebe loved it,” Minhyuk says, curtly, looking down at his bowl and swirling the spoon around in it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Kihyun finally turn away from him, his attention back on his food.

“Well,” he hums, sounding more than a bit smug, “Then I'm doing well, aren't I?”

The question Minhyuk had been itching to ask dies suddenly in his throat. _It's all he does_.

So he was right, after all.

All at once the milk of his cereal is too warm, the flakes long gone bland and soft. Suddenly feeling ill, Minhyuk stands up abruptly, gathering his bowl and taking it to the sink to pour out its contents and wash it.

“Yeah, congratulations,” he mumbles, and doesn't look at Kihyun on his way out.

-

_Do something cute together at a fansign_

Usually, Minhyuk loves fansigns. Being in a space where he can interact with the fans face to face and talk to them and offer them assurances of his own is something that means a lot to him in his life as an idol. Knowing he can make others smile is something Minhyuk finds intrinsically grounding, and it is for this reason that he is usually the most excited (well, bar Hoseok) whenever they come around.

But today he is miserable. Management had delightedly called him and Kihyun into a meeting room and showed them a slew of trend results across Naver, Twitter, and other platforms. _It's working great_ , their manager had said, _Keep up the work!_

So he really was stuck with this. Today he would have to be full-on cutesy with Kihyun. _Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut_ , he gripes. As they say, hindsight has very good vision; if he'd given any thought to the awkwardness that would result, Minhyuk might've been politer during their he has now come to internally label the Kitchen Incident.

“Hyunwoo-hyung,” Minhyuk calls sweetly, “Can you do me a favour?”

Suspiciously, Hyunwoo comes over, already made up and costumed. “What is it,” he asks, cautious.

Minhyuk puts on his best puppy dog eyes. “Could you help me -” he presses on despite Hyunwoo's anticipatory grimace “ - pass a message to Kihyun?”

Hyunwoo's mouth pretzels into a knot. “What is it,” he says anyway.

Instantly Minhyuk's sad expression is replaced by one of delight. “It's very simple,” he sings, “Won't take you much at all!”

Hyunwoo mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like _That's what I'm afraid of,_ but he does raise an eyebrow in concession. Minhyuk does an internal victory dance.

“Could you help me - tell K - K,” he says, and finds the name doesn't want to exit his mouth. He settles. “Could you help me tell _him_ that we have to decide on what to do for, uh, the third task?”

The look Hyunwoo levels him with is nothing short of exasperated. Minhyul blinks prettily and also extremely innocently until he sighs and turns around with a shake of his head, going over to where Kihyun is taking selfies by the mirrors. Minhyuk watches as Kihyun turns to smile at him, eyes catching the light of the mirrors and glinting prettily as he looks upwards.

Hyunwoo bends down and says something - presumably transmitting Minhyuk's message - and glances back in his direction, mouth still moving. When he stops Kihyun laughs, eyebrows raised, and then the two of them spend a while trading an exchange that seems to have nothing to do with Minhyuk's request.

It makes him feel weirdly left out.

Kihyun raises his head, then, and meets his gaze head-on from across the room. “What do you want to do?” he calls.

Minhyuk feels his eyes widen in panic. He whips his head towards Hyunwoo and makes a frantic flapping motion, calling him over. Eyebrow raised, his leader does comply, heading to him at a brisk walk.

Minhyuk leans up to whisper into his ear as Hyunwoo lowers himself to listen, obligingly. “Tell him I think we should do a coupley roleplay or something. Monbebe will love it and it'll make a big impact without too much effort.” Pulling away, he claps the older on his shoulder in thanks, receiving a slight shake of the head for his efforts.

When Hyunwoo straightens up he strides back to Kihyun quickly. Minhyuk watches the sharp, refined arch of Kihyun's brow as he listens and looks genuinely surprised for a moment. Then he smiles, a neat row of blindingly white teeth revealing itself.

“That's actually a very good idea,” Kihyun is saying, again addressing him directly. “We can tell one of the managers, I'm sure they can prepare the material for the later half of the fansign.”

Taken aback by the unexpected praise, Minhyuk blinks rapidly. He opens his mouth once, then again, then hopefully turns to Hyunwoo and raises a hand to call him over.

To his dismay, however, this time he is met with a distinctly unimpressed expression. “Min,” Hyunwoo says, disapprovingly.

Hand arrested in the air, Minhyuk shrivels a little bit. “But I just -”

Hyunwoo frowns, like he's regarding a disobedient puppy. “No.”

If his lower lip were to stick out any further, it would approach complete detachment from his face. “Please,” he begs.

Hyunwoo folds his arms across his chest. “Minhyuk.”

He knows that pose. It's his “no nonsense on my watch, please stop touching each other on this radio show, I want to sleep sometime this year” pose. It's also his “Be responsible” pose. There is no arguing with Hyunwoo like this. Defeated, Minhyuk sighs.

“Okay.”

Nodding just once, Hyunwoo gives them both one last warning glance before heading off. Minhyuk looks miserably in Kihyun's general direction, then briefly begins to tabulate his favour log with the younger members. _Hyungwon might owe me one for abandoning me with Kihyun the other day, actually…_

“You don't have to look so pained.” Kihyun's voice cuts through his thoughts. His tone is very conversational. “I meant what I said. If you want I'll talk to Jinwoo-hyung about it for us both.”

Minhyuk exhales slowly and very thoroughly through his nose. Grudgingly he says, “Yeah, that's. That's good.” Belatedly, he adds, “Thanks.” His hands find their way to the fabric of his designer pants, curling awkwardly there.

Kihyun has stood up, and is now already on the way to the door. He does stop at this, turning to regard Minhyuk with an expression that is nearly entirely blank, but for a slight knit to his brows.

“Don't mention it,” he says slowly, before leaving the dressing room, quietly closing the door behind him.

-

A few hours later finds Minhyuk holding a mic, a large pink bow set between two cat ears perched prettily on the top of his head. He reads off the cue card that had been passed to him just moments prior; amidst the screams of the fans, he gestures for everyone to quieten down.

“Now, everyone knows that we have our own actor in Monsta X,” he chirps, emcee voice in full drive. As expected, there is a chorus of screams from the Yoo Kihyun camp of the room; morosely, Minhyuk reminds himself that _all_ Monbebe are deserving of love.

On cue, Kihyun points at himself and brings a hand to his mouth, eyebrows raised as if in genuine surprise. A wave of squeals and cameras clicking is heard. Minhyuk sighs internally, but soldiers on. “So what better way to test that than with some acting?”

When he motions Kihyun over, he only pretends to resist for a second before he complies, getting out of his chair and walking over to Minhyuk’s side of the stage.

“Now, Monbebe, what role do you think Kihyunnie should act?” The nickname slips out unbidden, but he doesn't fix it, knowing it makes their camaraderie more believable, anyway. From the crowd rises a series of cheers and suggestions - he picks out _heroine, shy, confession_.

“You all want to see him as the shy heroine confessing to her love?” A cacophony of approval. Spinning around, Minhyuk retrieves the prop box that has been left near the side of the stage, and comes back with it, offering Kihyun the wig he finds in there.

Gracefully he takes it and adjusts it upon his head, lopsided and ill-fitting as it ends up being. He crosses his arms and waits, tapping his foot while gazing at Minhyuk. All eyes on him, Kihyun dramatically tosses a lock of fake hair, and is rewarded with a series of squeals, and the sounds of even more shutters clicking.

“Then... I’ll be the guy,” Minhyuk offers brightly, “Because I’m the best looking here!”

As expected, the remark stirs the rest of the members into a mock outrage. Hyungwon goes as far as to leave his seat, and it takes Hoseok leaping out of his to hold him down before they’re settled down enough to continue. Minhyuk shoves his emcee cue card into his shirt pocket and steps up closer to Kihyun, who seems to have already slipped into character. He shakes himself out with some measure of exaggeration, then pulls out his phone and mimes scrolling through it, looking in the opposite direction.

“Oppa,” Kihyun starts, falsely shy. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt, and his head is lowered to fix on the ground. Minhyuk slips the phone back into his pocket, looking up through his bangs at the sound of Kihyun’s voice.

“I - I have something to tell you,” he continues. Now his hands are pulling at each other, and when he lifts his head his glance is shy between his lashes. Minhyuk is almost taken aback by the look he finds there, even if he knows it isn’t real.

“What is it?” he says, lowering his voice comically to mimic a suave male lead. From beyond the stage he can hear a titter. For effect, he pushes a hand through his hair, shifting into a pose; the giggles get louder.

Kihyun is unfazed. He takes one deep breath, then another, and when he brings one hand up between the two of them it is quivering in an undeniably realistic way. “I want to tell you that I,” he says, the hand resuming its motion and catching in Minhyuk’s sweater. “I … I like you.”

As he says it Minhyuk has involuntarily drawn closer, and for a moment the two of them are caught, leaning into each others’ space, holding the pose so fansites can get countless angles of the moment. His mouth is open, but for some reason it feels dry, and no words seem to want to make their way out. He can see the light blue line of Kihyun’s contact lens, the sharp slope of his nose in clear focus. His gaze catches helplessly on the fan of Kihyun’s lashes, dark and long between them.

Then Changkyun is picking up a mic and saying “Okay, okay, cut it out,” to the simultaneous groans and laughter of their audience, and Minhyuk blinks into the realisation of just how close they are. He draws away as if burnt, scuttling back to the other side of the stage and passing the moment off with an airy laugh. It comes off far lighter than he feels.

“Now, Monbebe, what do you all think of that performance?” he asks, holding a hand to his ear to welcome the excited shrieks. “He did well?” More cheers.

“Well, now we’ve all confirmed that fact, right?” He asks, to a chorus of _yes_ es and _I love you_ s. “Then we can move on to the next programme, which is _fan questions_!” Minhyuk claps his other hand against the one holding the mic as he looks around, the cue for their staff to rearrange the stage setup.

He hands the mic over to Hyunwoo, who is to be the host for the next segment, and takes his seat next to Hoseok, cheering their leader on. Very resolutely, he does not meet Kihyun’s eyes for the rest of the session.

-

Minhyuk has just showered and taken off his makeup when he runs into Kihyun on his way out of the bathroom. It’s late, and the day was long; his instinct is to pretend he never saw him so he can avoid any sort of confrontation. All he wants is to go to his bed and collapse into a deep sleep until they have to wake up for the next day’s filming.

But yet.

“You really did well out there,” his mouth says, and it stops Kihyun in his tracks. When he raises his head slowly to meet Minhyuk’s gaze he looks tired, makeup splotchy after a long day, hair still half in the coif it had been forced into.

He holds the look like that for a while, then says, eventually, “Yeah?”

Flustered, Minhyuk instantly tries to seek a way out. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he blurts, then makes an attempt at a sidestep. “I’ll just go to bed -”

Kihyun mirrors him, blocking with his body. “No, let’s talk about this,” he says, piercing tone at absolute odds with the greyness of his skin, so dull in the fluorescent light. He nears upon Minhyuk until he’s forced to take backwards steps, cornering him back into the bathroom, pressing closer still until his back hits the counter.

“You were saying?” he prompts, his gaze very dark and very still. His arm rests casually on the sink, effectively trapping Minhyuk in. Kihyun’s features are tight, stressed; for a moment, guilt washes through him.

“Just… the fans liked it,” Minhyuk says lamely, feeling unspeakably small for a moment. “You’re good at that.”

Now Kihyun’s eyes do narrow. They’re slightly red; Minhyuk realises that his contacts are still in. Probably have been, for over sixteen hours now. “So you thought you’d leave me to do all the work? Is that it?”

The sudden accusation takes Minhyuk by surprise. “Wait, what?” he asks, standing up straighter, defensive. “What are you even talking about?”

Even though the shift in Minhyuk’s posture has brought them closer, Kihyun presses nearer still. He is standing nearly between Minhyuk’s legs when he says, “You weren’t even _trying_.”

“That isn’t true,” Minhyuk shoots back, frowning. “Just because some of us don’t have an acting degree doesn’t mean we weren’t trying.”

There is an ugly expression of disbelief on Kihyun’s face now, scornful. It crawls into Minhyuk’s veins, sets them alight. “You can’t even talk to me without using someone as a middleman,” he jeers, “And you expect me to believe that excuse of a performance onstage was the product of any _effort?_ ”

It cuts because some of it is true. “What the fuck is your problem," Minhyuk bites; vindictive, he wants to make it hurt, too.

“Have _you_ ever considered not being so condescending to the people around you? Maybe I’m - I’m not the most mature sometimes, but at least I don’t assume I’m right about everything and everyone. At least _I_ try to respect when other people have done well, which was what I was _doing_ until - until you decided to be a little bitch about everything, like you always do.” The words come out in a torrent; belatedly, Minhyuk thinks that he might’ve gone too far, but - well. He can’t take them back now.

“Is that what you really think of me?”

Kihyun’s voice is hardly above a breath. The edge has left his features, replaced by that same blankness that comes upon him whenever he doesn’t know how to deal with a situation. Minhyuk knows this, too; it is the closest he ever comes to looking upset.

Something about that expression irks him. A buzz thrums just under his skin, some residual outrage, that Kihyun should feel as if he had the right to look that way when it is Minhyuk who is being wronged. The white noise in his ears grows louder. He doesn’t want to see that look. Brashly leaning in, Minhyuk’s hand finds its place on the back of Kihyun’s neck. There is only a split second for him to register the slack, widened eyes before their lips are meeting, the heat of their bodies melding together.

Kihyun’s lips are chapped. He doesn’t taste like much, either; faintly of coffee, from the iced Americano he always sips during fansigns. Dimly Minhyuk remembers that they hadn’t bothered with dinner on their way back. But there is something unreal to the fact that he is here, skin to skin; Minhyuk feels Kihyun’s small hands settling about his waist before he brings his own to rest on his. He breathes him in, and presses his fingers into soft flesh, and pulls Kihyun closer, consumed by a sudden urge to touch.

The sound of a door opening somewhere in the apartment tears them both apart. There is the sound of feet heavy on parquet flooring; probably Hoseok, done with showering in the other bathroom. Frozen, Kihyun’s gaze weighs heavy, brows upturned in a look that is even more foreign, and in its own way frightening.

The silence is deafening. “You had that look on your face,” Minhyuk says dumbly, hand still caught near his lips. “I thought that I should -” Should what? Wipe it off? Kiss it better? His mouth hangs open, and it takes a great will to make it shut.

“I’ll just - I’ll go now,” he amends, hastily.

This time, when he takes his leave, Kihyun doesn’t stop him.

-

-

“I’ve fucked up,” Minhyuk announces, miserably. “I’ve fucked up so colossally I will never be able to show my face anywhere again, and I’ll have to move to America, and change my name, and live forevermore as Jeremy Lee, professional gamer and sometime-businessman. You’ll see me when I’m dead, I promise I’ll disclose my location through my estate in order to invite you to my funeral.”

“First of all,” Hyungwon says, very slowly, “Your head is on my crotch. Please don’t do that.”

“It’s the softest part of your bony, bony lap,” Minhyuk whines, “You would try to evict a dying man for your own comfort? You would really do that to me, the best friend you’ve ever had?”

“Yes, actually,” Hyungwon says, deeply unimpressed, but lets him remain where he is. “Secondly, you can’t even speak English.”

Minhyuk harrumphs in disagreement. “Kkungie said I’m good,” he protests, “Anyway, I can always learn.” He holds his hand up above his face as he counts off the following. “Goodmorning, hello, how are you, don’t ask me questions about my deep dark past and the reason why I’ve moved here to start my new life, yes please, thank you.” He wriggles a bit and smiles toothily up at Hyungwon. “See? That’s all I’ll really need to know!”

“You said the important part in Korean, though,” Hyungwon remarks. He drums a bony, long hand on Minhyuk’s neck as he thinks; Minhyuk cranes his head, halfheartedly trying to bite at his fingers, but Hyungwon avoids his attempts, tapping his jaw bottom-up so it shuts.

“ _Thirdly_ ,” he continues, “What kind of name is Jeremy?”

“One of my favourite basketball players is named Jeremy,” Minhyuk grouches, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Hyungwon hums. The last time he had to do anything sports related, he’d twisted his own ankle on flat ground right in front of the teacher just so he would get to sit out for the rest of the semester. It had only been half deliberate. “No, I wouldn’t,” he agrees. “Point four: what, exactly, has gotten you in this state?”

Minhyuk reaches one hand up and lovingly pats Hyungwon’s cheek. He pulls away from the warning gnash of teeth. “I thought you’d never ask,” he coos. Then he instantly deflates, remembering what, indeed, it is that has gotten him like this. “Ah. Well.”

“Well?” Hyungwon shakes his legs impatiently, and it makes Minhyuk’s teeth rattle. “I’m _waiting_.”

“Stop that,” Minhyuk jangles, his words clumsy as he tries to speak through his shaking jaw. “Stop, and I’ll talk.”

Hyungwon stills. His amphibian features loom over Minhyuk, a ghastly shadow. “I’m waiting,” he says.

Minhyuk grumbles. “You have to promise not to laugh,” he warns, except it comes out a lot more like a beg. “If you laugh I really will move to America. I might even take Kkung with me.”

Hyungwon snorts. “Kkung won’t go with you, it’s five hyungs versus one and he likes to be pampered. Also, I’ve known you since we were negative years old, there’s very little you could do that would surprise me.”

Then he seems to fall into thought. “Well - unless you did something _seriously_ stupid, like - uh, I don’t know, make out with your mortal enemy or something.”

“But not even _you_ would do that, right, it would take a man of some seriously tragic caliber to be going around coming on to someone they swear they can’t bear to even look a -” He catches sight of Minhyuk’s expression. “Dude. No way.”

Minhyuk’s grin is a shabby thing, made entirely of plastic. “It was an accident?” he tries, the end of the sentence tipping up sharply against his best efforts to sound assertive.

“Noooooooooooooooooooo way. No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Nah. You didn’t, dude. Not even you. You wouldn’t do that.” Hyungwon’s denials spill out in a haste now, his disbelief palpable. “Min, I’ve known you forever, and you have _got_ to be joking me right now.”

His overlarge hands sandwich Minhyuk’s face between them, kneading his cheeks like dough. Hyungwon glances around the music show waiting room at the numerous staff milling about, before turning his attention back to Minhyuk. “ _Please_ say sike.”

Minhyuk looks up, sorrowful and squished. “Oi’m noht loiying,” he says.

With an almighty, gusty sigh, Hyungwon releases him. He taps Minhyuk up into a sitting position so he can scoot in towards him on the couch and take hold of him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Why? How? When? Why? What was his reaction? _Why_?”

“You said ‘why’ three times,” Minhyuk points out, shiftily.

Hyungwon merely looks at him in reply.

Minhyuk sighs, then looks around, and scoots even closer until he’s nearly in Hyungwon’s lap. “Few days ago,” he mumbles, “after the - the fanmeet. When we did the.” He gestures vaguely. “Acting thing.”

Hyungwon’s eyes bug out, completely round. “Was that your _foreplay?_ Did you guys get turned on by the whole oppa thing? Like, okay, I knew Ki was a bit of a freak, but that’s n-”

Minhyuk cuts him off with a desperate, frantic shushing and a hand clapped over Hyungwon’s mouth. He doesn’t move it, not even when he feels a wet lick against the underside of his palm and grimaces. “It wasn’t anything like that,” he grumbles, “Get your head out of the gutter.”

Hyungwon raises his eyebrows, and wrests Minhyuk’s hand away, courteously wiping it on his own stage outfit as he does. “You told me you two got handsy and won’t give me other details, what else am I supposed to think?”

“I’m getting to it, damn, chill a little.” Minhyuk sighs thunderously. “In the first place, we just kissed, that’s all, okay? No… no _handsy_ ing.” Not that he hadn’t - hadn’t wanted to, but he didn’t have to disclose that particular bit of information. Not even to himself.

“Go on, then,” Hyungwon says, leaning one long, spindly arm against the back of the couch. He wriggles his eyebrows as he does. “I’m waiting.”

Minhyuk shoots him a dirty look, but leans in closer, anyway. “Honestly, we kind of ended up - ended up having a fight, and then, and then he had that look on his face, you know the one, and it just - I hated looking at it. So I… you know.” It sounds bad, now that he’s said it out loud. Hyungwon’s eyebrows disappear further into his fringe.

“So you…. Kissed him.”

Minhyuk inclines his head approximately five degrees in acknowledgment.

“Because you didn’t like the look on his face.”

His head drops another five degrees, for a total of ten.

“I don’t know what look you’re talking about, by the way, but that’s… that’s fine.” Hyungwon swoops in until they are nose to nose, and looks at Minhyuk like he’s a specimen and Hyungwon is a high schooler in science lab.

“Okay, well. It’s not the end of the world, now, is it? We’re adults. One kiss isn’t going to shake anybody’s world.” A pause, and then he says, voice low, “Or do you want it to?”

Minhyuk shakes his head so hurriedly he nearly gives himself whiplash. “Don’t be dumb, Won,” he says, two sizes too large. “It’s just that we’re sworn enemies, you know? Isn’t it kind of weird?”

Hyungwon nods extremely slowly. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess it is.” Then he seems to recall something, slinging a casual arm upon Minhyuk’s shoulder and using him as an armrest. “Wow, and here I was wondering why you guys seemed to be more allergic to each other than usual.”

Minhyuk makes a sad noise and barrels into Hyungwon’s neck, sniffling dramatically. “ _This_ is why I said I was going to migrate to America and never return again. Do you see? See what has become of me?”

Hyungwon pats him consolingly. “There, there,” he says, “It’s alright. You’ll live.”

He looks up from Minhyuk’s blonde, miserable head just in time to catch Kihyun walk into the room. When he looks around and makes eye contact with Hyungwon, his whole countenance seems to freeze for a moment. Then he nods stiffly at him before turning swiftly on his heels and leaving as quickly as he had come.

 _Huh_. Absently patting Minhyuk’s head, Hyungwon wisely decides not to say anything.

-

_4\. Joint V-Live_

Minhyuk keeps his head lowered as he focuses on chopping a carrot into smaller pieces, just off to the side of the camera. Behind him, the rice cooker works away cheerfully; to his left, Kihyun is talking to their viewers while he washes spinach and minds the pot of water on the boil.

“Hello Monbebe! Have you all eaten yet? Today we’re making something simple because Minhyukkie doesn’t cook very well.” His voice oozes cuteness; desperately, Minhyuk tries not to roll his eyes too hard, and focuses on not cutting one of his fingers off by accident.

“Right, Min?” he asks, voice honeyed. Minhyuk glances up sharply to see Kihyun looking in his direction, head tilted questioningly. His eyes are wide, creased slightly at the corners, his mouth curled at the edges into a half-grin; he looks so friendly, Minhyuk would be aghast if they weren’t currently on broadcast. He laughs in response, setting the knife down.

“Yeah, I’m not really good with cooking, but that’s why I have Ki to show me!” He doesn’t have the hands free to go and examine the comments on their live stream, but he’s sure the fans must be enjoying this. _At least someone is_ , he thinks in resignation, turning back to the chopping board.

“So…” He can hear the lilt in Kihyun’s voice as he talks to the camera, mixing the now-parboiled spinach with condiments in a bowl. “Does anybody have any idea what it is we might be making today?”

Minhyuk smiles a little bit, in spite of himself, as he greases a pan and starts cooking the omelette. There’s no way their fans wouldn’t be able to tell what it is they’re doing, but it is nice to hear the way Kihyun manages to keep up a constant stream of dialogue with them even while cooking. “Ding ding ding! You’re right! We’re making kimbap today!”

He raises his head at this, tossing Kihyun a companionable smile and a light shake of the head, as if to chastise him for stating the obvious. Quickly done with the omelette, he transfers it back to the cooking board to cut it into strips. Kihyun is reading off a few live comments and answering them, his voice almost lyrical.

The sound of his name being called brings him back to the present. “User _monX4ever_ asks, ‘Why is Minhyukkie-oppa so quiet?’ Ahh, there’s a question. You’re right, I hadn’t noticed, he’s been a bit quieter than usual, right?” Kihyun laughs. “Not that that’s saying much.”

Kihyun’s previous words about not trying hard enough ring in his head, and Minhyuk is momentarily awash in guilt. He hadn’t even realised he’d basically spaced out while chopping, too uncomfortable to really interact with Kihyun after what he’d done. From the start of this Hyunwoo had told him to be professional, and he’d been so sure it would be easy for him to do, but in the end, wasn’t he the one stifling their interactions while Kihyun tried his best to aid them along?

He looks up to meet the camera, and feels his throat close up. “Hehe,” Minhyuk says, weakly, “Do you all miss my talking so much?”

He can feel the pressure of Kihyun’s gaze on him, heavy for a moment. Then the other man is commanding the attention of the viewers, again, waving with both hands to take up more space than he really does. “Ah, I think he’s just concentrating. Right? Not everyone’s a cooking genius, after all.”

His grin is bright when he tosses carrots, kimbap ham, and crabsticks into a pan, cooking them lightly. He pauses and holds his spatula up to accentuate his point when he talks. “It takes _skill_ to speak and cook at the same time! Skill!”

Chastised, Minhyuk grabs the offered helpline and goes along with it. “I’m afraid I’ll miss and make myself into kimbap too,” he admits, sheepishly rubbing at his head with the back of his hand. It’s half true, anyway.

Then he looks back down at the next thing he has to chop and blanches, making a noise of so much disgust that Kihyun has to stop what he’s doing to laugh, bracing himself against the counter as he does.

“I’m not touching that!!!!” Minhyuk wails, reaction genuine. “And it certainly isn’t going anywhere near my food! Never! You’ll have to kill me before I submit!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Kihyun remarks lightly. He finishes transferring the lightly cooked ingredients into another bowl and walks over, picking up a rice scoop and handing it to Minhyuk as he gets there. “The cucumber will be in mine, I don’t like spinach. Go get the rice, I’ll do it.”

When Minhyuk hesitates, clearly torn between being rid of his nemesis and admitting defeat, Kihyun taps him twice on the elbow to get him to move. “This will be nothing like the ones our moms make, but we’ll try to eat well anyway,” he tells the camera, quickly and deftly slicing the cucumber as he does.

With this the preparations are more or less done, and the two of them shift to another counter to assemble their rolls, Minhyuk copying Kihyun in obedient silence.

“Yours is all lumpy,” Kihyun teases, and Minhyuk looks up from his dedicated rolling to discover that Kihyun’s kimbap is perfectly smooth and even, while his has ingredients and rice trying to squeeze themselves out of the sides. Grimly he wonders if this is a metaphor for their existences.

Minhyuk opens his mouth to object, but is momentarily taken aback by the genuine mirth he finds in Kihyun’s face. “It’s cute,” Kihyun adds, reaching over and patting the bamboo mat lightly, as if consoling the roll for the fault of its creator. “Don’t worry about it.”

When Kihyun smiles, his eyes disappear into twin winking crescents, and he dimples high in the cheeks. Being on the receiving end of that expression, for once, feels something like a privilege. Minhyuk tries to sort between the pride - elation - dismay that arises at that thought, and settles for pressing them all down, mindful of the cameras still running.

But his fingers tingle, warm, when he pulls the kimbap closer to him, and they quiver a little even when he does his best to cut the slices as evenly as possible. Minhyuk glances furtively over at Kihyun to see if he’s paying attention to the mediocre - not for a lack of trying - result, and tries not to acknowledge the undercurrent of disappointment that arises when he finds that he isn’t.

“Okay, we’re done,” he chirps, after checking to make sure they’ve both completed their presentations. Eyes on the camera, he misses the mild surprise that graces Kihyun’s features at Minhyuk taking charge for the first time.

Minhyuk pushes both Kihyun’s and his plates to the edge of the table, facing the camera, and motions the cameraman closer to zoom in on each of them as he does. “Monbebe, it’s time to vote: Who do you think did better?”

Immediately the responses start pouring in - at first it roughly appears equal between the two of them, but eventually Kihyun’s visually superior kimbap seems to win out, and Minhyuk finds himself pouting at the sheer number of _kihyunnie-oppa_ s flooding the screen.

“You’re all so mean to me,” he pouts, picking up one of his slices and inspecting it. It _is_ a little ugly, slightly lumpy with the seaweed peeling off. “It’s still beautiful in my heart!” He pops it into his mouth and chews on it, making obnoxiously loud noises of enjoyment as he does. “And it’s delicious, too!”

“You’re going to choke,” Kihyun tells him mildly, picking up a slice of his own and eating it with a lot more grace. He waves his chopsticks lightly in the air when he turns to the camera, and says, all dramatics, “Thank you Monbebe for the honour of this win. I will treasure it dearly, and hold it close to my heart.”

Minhyuk takes the cue and nudges his own face into the frame, beaming toothily after having swallowed. “#Kihyunie1stwin! Get it trending!” he chirps, then waves at the camera with both hands. “Anyway, this has been Monsta X. Bye-bye, Monbebe! Thanks for joining us, and next time I’ll make something better! I promise!”

Kihyun bends close to him and waves as well, mimicking his posture. “We’ll eat now, see you next time,” he chimes in, and they hold the pose until the stream is cut.

Then it is silence between the two of them. It occurs to Minhyuk that, with the kimbap in the way, he would have to sit down and eat with Kihyun, with nobody else to act as buffer, devoid of the invisible third party of their fans in the room.

He doesn’t have a good track record of that, being alone with Kihyun.

He takes a deep breath. Reaching for his phone, Minhyuk thumbs to Kakao and pretends to scroll through his chat logs for a while. Then he says, looking up and making eye contact with Kihyun’s temple, “Hyungwon’s looking for me, I gotta -”

Kihyun cuts him off. “You can say you just want to leave, you know,” he says, shifting so they’re looking directly at each other for a moment before he breaks away, idly picking up another slice as he does. Off camera, he looks tired, the lines of his face harsher when he isn’t smiling for fans. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Minhyuk startles. Contrite, he fumbles for something to say. “No, it’s just - we never seem to - you’re -” He exhales forcefully, still at a loss. “I can - I can stay, if you want.”

Kihyun doesn’t say anything about how Minhyuk has just given away his extremely thin lie. He does, however, look up, exasperated and visibly disappointed for a reason Minhyuk can’t pinpoint. It burrows into his chest and sits there, a ponderous burden beneath his ribs.

“Just go, Minhyuk,” Kihyun says. It comes out close to a bite. He runs a hand over his face, brusquely, then says it again. “Just - just go.”

It feels like he’s being tested, somehow, or like he’s being asked to make a huge decision he doesn’t know the impacts of. Minhyuk hesitates, hands shaky about his plate. For a moment, he wonders if it would really be so bad to stay.

But Kihyun doesn’t look up, slumped against the table with only his arm to prop him up. As Minhyuk does take his leave, he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something very important.

-

-

A week after the V-Live, Minhyuk is discreetly tucked away into the back of a cafe near their dorm with Hyungwon and Hoseok, seizing a rare one-hour slice of free time to catch a tiny breather. Through the high window light filters in, bathing their table in a warm glow. Hoseok is engrossed in his phone while Hyungwon busies himself with selfies, and Minhyuk watches them both idly, content to sip on his iced coffee and observe the few patrons present in the lull.

“Hyung,” he says, idly curious, “What're you doing?”

Hoseok scrolls for a few more seconds before he looks up, eyes bright and cheeks plumping slightly when he smiles, pleased. “Looking at my fansite photos,” he announces, turning the screen towards Minhyuk. “I look good, huh?”

As it always is, even when he's bragging Hoseok clearly doesn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. Minhyuk smiles at him, properly, showing as many teeth as he can to add some force to his words. “You always do, hyung,” he chirps.

Hoseok's expression blooms at the praise. He is bashful, voice small when he says, “Thank you.” At this Hyungwon puts down his phone, leaning over to place his head in Hoseok's line of sight. Minhyuk makes a dissatisfied noise at having his attention taken away from him, but otherwise doesn’t fuss.

“Hyung,” Hyungwon says, very plainly, “If I looked like you, I'd spend _all_ my time looking up my fansites, honestly.”

Hoseok blushes properly, and pushes Hyungwon away with a whine. “You're just saying that,” he protests, smile taking over his face. Minhyuk has to shove his hands into his pocket to stop himself from pinching his cheeks, he's so cute.

“You know I never lie,” Hyungwon drawls. “I've never once told Minhyuk he's handsome, for one, which is how you know I - _ow, stop it, stop hitting me, ow, Lee Minhyuk, ow, I said stop!”_

“My own best friend,” Minhyuk wails, clawing ineffectually in Hyungwon's general direction even while letting Hoseok’s patient hand on his thigh hold him back. “You would be cruel to me. You would lie to my very face!”

Hyungwon sniffs in put-on distaste. “I’ll be nice to you when you _earn_ it, cretin.”

Hoseok cuts in, laughing. “Stop it, both of you, you’ll attract attention.” Sure enough, a few girls of about university age are stood still in the middle of the floor, looking towards their area with expressions of mild curiosity on their faces.

Cowed, they both quiet, Hyungwon less willingly than Minhyuk, who proceeds to make up for it by pulling the dirtiest faces possible. “ _Anyway_ ,” Hoseok says, accompanying his statement with an elbow nudge. “Min, what about you?” He tilts his head in question. “Do you ever check for your fansite pics?”

Minhyuk grimaces a little bit. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t right now. They’re all about the… you know.”

“The what?”

Minhyuk’s mouth migrates further up his face. “The… the _you know_ what.”

Hoseok looks around, confused. “The what?” he repeats, a little too loud.

Minhyuk grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him down, voice coming out in a sibilant hiss. “The _fanservice, hyung, have you forgotten all about that?_ ”

Finally, Hoseok’s eyes widen, rounding in surprise. “Oh,” he says, breath coming out in a small rush. “ _Right_. I knew there was a reason the two of you haven’t been talking at all. Like, even more than usual.” He pauses in contemplation. “Wait. Wasn’t it Wednesday that Kihyun walked in while you were eating and you, like, set your mug of tea and bread down on the table and then walked straight out?”

“We don’t like each other, hyung, why are you surprised,” Minhyuk demurs, “It’s not anything unusual.”

Hoseok shakes his head fervently, glancing at Hyungwon as if asking for him to back his point up. “I mean, yeah, but this is whole new levels. You used to at least be able to eat in the same room together.”

Minhyuk’s voice climbs a few notches higher. “I mean,” he squeaks, “We’ve never liked each other, and now we’re forced to be all cute. It's, like, ‘course we're gonna… You know.”

Above Hoseok’s head, Minhyuk’s peripheral vision registers a blob shaped like a fluffy cherry with a mouth. When he focuses he sees Hyungwon, eyes and puffy mouth blown wide, mouthing something over his head repeatedly and with a great urgency. Minhyuk frowns, and concentrate.

_Does… know… kiss?_

“NO!” Minhyuk yelps in panic, earning a slap on the knee from Hoseok and extremely round, glossy eyes from Hyungwon. Sheepishly he drops his voice to a whisper. “No,” he repeats to Hyungwon, shielding his mouth from Hoseok's view.

“I can still hear you, you know,” Hoseok points out, bemused. “What are you two going on about?”

“Nothing,” Minhyuk and Hyungwon say at the same time, looking for all the world like two meerkats on lookout upon the sandy plains of the Kalahari desert. Minhyuk clears his throat. “Nothing at all.”

Hoseok cocks his head, but doesn't comment, opting instead to carry on with the initial conversation.

“Anyway,” he says, “I know I said this to you the other time, but like…” He rocks his feet to and fro on the floor, pressing them first flat on the ground, then pushing them into a tiptoe, and then back to rest on his heels. “Don't you think you're being a little, I don't know, mean about it? Ki really isn't such a bad guy. I think you guys could get along.”

Minhyuk's expression closes over entirely as he catches Hyungwon's gaze, raising his eyebrows very slightly in a plea for help. The latter scrambles to his rescue. “I don't think Min's being mean, Hoseok-hyung,” he reasons.

“It's like… if you had an enemy, and suddenly you had to be extra friendly to them all the time, wouldn't it feel really weird? Like, it would be even more fake if you were suddenly nice to them because of that, right?” Above Hoseok's head he widens his eyes meaningfully at Minhyuk, asking if he did well. He receives a discreet thumbs up in reply.

Hoseok's reply is swift and flat, like a pancake being frisbeed across a park green. “I wouldn't know,” he says, honestly, “I've never disliked anyone that much.” He looks genuinely troubled when he continues, “Maybe you’re right, but then the question, to me, is - should you guys really hate each other so much? It doesn’t seem right, to me.”

Something of how stricken he is by the remark must show on Minhyuk’s face, because Hyungwon hastens to fill the silence again. “They - they don’t really _hate_ each other in that way, hyung, it’s just… they… uh.” Having run out of ideas, he looks towards Minhyuk apologetically.

The dent between his brows is very deep, and Minhyuk does not meet either of their gazes when he says, very slowly, “You have a point, Hoseokkie-hyung.” Then, voice distant, he continues, “But thanks, ‘Won.”

Unexpectedly, Hoseok’s face blooms into a smile. “Thank you for listening,” he says softly, eyes crinkling so deeply Minhyuk wonders if he might know something Minhyuk doesn’t. But the guilt settles in at being thanked for something he should really be doing of his own accord.

“No,” Minhyuk hastens to say, “I - I shouldn’t be like this, anyway.” He manages a watery smile as punctuation. “Anyway, it’s -” he checks his wristwatch - “It’s about time to head back, isn’t it?”

Hyungwon glances over at him as they gather their items, clearly asking if he’s okay. Minhyuk shoots him a bright smile and a shake of his head, and thinks that this time, there are things he has to do for himself.

-

Minhyuk pauses outside the door to Kihyun's room, hand frozen in the air on its way to knock. He makes one aborted motion, then another; then he takes a deep breath, gathering up all his courage, and knocks sharply twice on the door, waiting for a confused “Come in?” before he pushes it open and lets himself in, closing the door behind him.

“Oh. It's you.”

Kihyun's voice is low and dismissive when he sees who it is. “I was wondering who would actually need to knock.”

 _Ouch._ Minhyuk winces, but doesn't rise to the challenge, accepting that he deserves the hostility. “Kihyun, I,” he says, carefully, “I came here to talk.”

Kihyun spins his chair fully around to face Minhyuk, now, face blank. “About what,” he asks, without bothering to turn the sentence up at the end.

Outside, the sun is sinking below the horizon; Minhyuk is suddenly very aware of the weight of silence, the pale blue the air seems to colour. The dorm is devoid of anyone besides them; he had waited for the other members to go out for dinner, and he'd begged off, citing knee issues, and told Hyungwon to get his share when he'd noticed Kihyun was opting to stay back. It might be the only chance he'd get in a while, he had reasoned, and it would be best to clear the air before the last task. It would, he thought, make things easier for them all.

But now, standing in the room and staring Kihyun down in his desk chair, Minhyuk isn't so sure. In the fading light of day there is very little light to catch in his eyes, which are dark and dull, his outline backlit faintly by the fluorescent screen of his monitor. He seems so small. Minhyuk glances at the monitor to find it open to sheet music. He’d been reviewing, then.

“It's - nevermind,” Minhyuk tries, suddenly feeling bad. “I'll leave you to i-”

“Spit it out, Minhyuk.” Kihyun gestures tiredly behind him. “If you're concerned about causing a disturbance, you've already disrupted me. You might as well just be done with it.”

Minhyuk shifts his weight onto his other foot. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I wanted to - I wanted - Iwantedtosaysorry,” he blurts.

Heart thundering in his chest, when Minhyuk chances a brief peek upwards he thinks he might catch a flicker of surprise cross Kihyun's face. “Sorry,” Kihyun repeats, the word viscous in his mouth. “You're saying _sorry_.”

Minhyuk takes a few steps closer, resolute. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Sorry for being mean.”

Kihyun's eyes are so narrowed all they are now are slits in his face. “Sorry,” he says, again, “For being _mean_.”

Abruptly he stands up, moving forward to stand squarely before Minhyuk. His expression has a distant, ironic wonder in it when he steps close, eyes tracing over Minhyuk's features, head tilting when he says, low, “Was that supposed to cover it?”

Something about that causes a chill to run just under Minhyuk's skin. “I don't,” he says, “I don't know what you mean.”

If he leaned forward, Kihyun's nose would brush Minhyuk's jaw. “Is that it,” he says. “Is that all you have to say? Was that supposed to just clear the air between us and make everything peachy and -” his voice seizes slightly - “and good?”

“Well - yes,” Minhyuk replies weakly, knowing as he says it that it is a feeble response. “I didn't think it was that serious -”

“ _Not that serious_?” For the first time something besides blankness is visible on Kihyun's face; the last word breaks, a jagged sound. Minhyuk dimly registers hands fisting angrily in the sides of his shirt, near his waist. It sounds dangerously close to a sob when Kihyun bites out, “Is everything just a game to you?”

Alarmed, Minhyuk’s hands come up to rest hesitantly on the juts of Kihyun's hips. He tells himself it's to stop him from coming any closer. “We're just - we just don't like each other, it's not that deep, right?”

“Minhyuk,” Kihyun breathes. “You can be so fucking cruel.”

When Minhyuk finally dares to look into his eyes he realises they’re glistening. It fills him with panic. “Ki,” he starts, desperately, “Hey - hey, don’t cry -”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Kihyun snarls, shoving him suddenly. Caught unawares, Minhyuk stumbles backwards, backtracking into a closet. He hits the wood with a hollow sound. “You don’t - you don’t _get_ to. Not you.”

His brows are high, drawn tightly together. Minhyuk flounders. “Kihyun,” he says, his hands moving of their own accord. They land on either of Kihyun’s arms, tentative. He doesn’t shake them off. “I’m sorry, look, I didn’t know you actually cared -”

“That’s your problem,” Kihyun says, “You never _think_.”

And then there is heat, a single point of contact, a star dying in the space where they touch. Kihyun’s hands are fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling them together, and their teeth clack angrily when he pulls too hard, a fire searing through Minhyuk’s skull at the force.

He closes his eyes, anyway, and tries to breathe him in, tamping down the voice that says _you waited for this_. His hands find their way into the small of Kihyun’s back, and he does his best to tell himself he isn’t clinging when he pulls him closer, until he’s bracketing Kihyun between his legs. The other closes the last inch between them both, pressing in, up, flush.

His nerves are alight. Minhyuk breaks away with a groan, feeling the colour that must be high on his cheeks. Kihyun looks the way he feels when he murmurs, “You kissed me,” his hands running under Minhyuk’s shirt, splaying out on his stomach. Minhyuk shifts, desperately, trying to get more of his touch. A finger toys at his waistband. “Why?”

Instinctively, he jerks his hips up, trying to find Kihyun’s again. Relishes the way his eyelids flutter closed, mouth falling open just so. Minhyuk surges back in, their mouths melding together for one searing moment until he drags his lips away to mouth down Kihyun’s jaw instead, eager to taste his skin. His teeth are worrying at the pale column of Kihyun’s throat when Minhyuk lies, “I don’t know.”

Kihyun only moans in reply, tilting his head further left to expose the muscle to Minhyuk’s curious mouth. “You’re - ah,” he gasps, “You’re lying.” His hands brace themselves around Minhyuk’s waist so he can push himself closer still, and he lets out a high, keening sound when Minhyuk’s hands find his chest, rucking his shirt upwards and exposing his nipples to the cool air.

The room has fallen dark, now, the sun having completed its descent; Minhyuk hears, feels - he licks - tastes Kihyun, and it's easier, how he doesn't really see him.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, mouth to a pale, smooth chest. “Do you really need to know so badly?”

For once Kihyun does not have a reply. Instead he shifts until he's nearly sitting on Minhyuk's thigh, and leans in, rocking just barely, arching his back backwards in an attempt to give him leverage to grind while allowing Minhyuk access to his skin. Instinctively Minhyuk’s hands find his ass, supporting him to prevent him from sliding backwards, and shivers at the low, desperate sound Kihyun lets go at the touch.

“Didn't think so,” he mumbles, smugly, distracted by the faintly visible line of Kihyun's nose in the near dark. He leans in, impulsive, and kisses it. Pretends not to notice the way Kihyun's eyes, lids cast low, blink open suddenly at the touch, and aims for a tender spot on his neck, instead, sucking on it to drink up the high, hungry noises whole.

“Do you ever shut up,” Kihyun gasps, the edge of his tone dulled considerably by his eyes, shut again, his legs a vice grip around Minhyuk's own. Then his hand is hot on Minhyuk's cock, a warning squeeze over the material of his track pants. “Do I - ah, have to make you?”

Minhyuk grips his wrist, but makes no motion otherwise to pull Kihyun closer or force him to let go. Without his permission his thumb begins to trace a slow circle over the pulse humming there. “You can try,” Minhyuk murmurs, canting his hips forward into the hold, challenging.

With a disbelieving scoff, Kihyun slides off his leg just enough to start walking backwards, pulling him along, hissing as Minhyuk refuses to let go of his neck. Soon Minhyuk is pressing Kihyun against the edge of Kihyun's bed; when his knees buckle and he folds onto the mattress Minhyuk climbs into Kihyun's lap, legs on either side of his waist. Impatient, he reaches for the hem of Kihyun's t-shirt, pulling it off eagerly when arms are raised in implicit invitation.

Kihyun’s lids hang nearly shut, his lips full and pursed with thought when he reaches in return for Minhyuk's, _tsk_ ing with a hitch in his breath when insistent hands return to his chest, exploring, teasing.

“I don't know what you want,” he says, even as Minhyuk obligingly wriggles out of the shirt, letting it fall to the side, forgotten. His hands find their ways onto Minhyuk's thighs and smooth up, dangerously close to where they’re wanted, then fall down to his knees, resting there.

“Didn't you tell _me_ to shut up,” Minhyuk snipes, pushing their hips together urgently, the tent in his sweatpants pronounced. “Aren’t you being a little hypocritical?”

He leans them both down, eclipsing Kihyun's vision, and ghosts a hand across his stomach, watching the way the muscles contract at the touch. Kihyun, too, is momentarily taken by the cast of Minhyuk's tanner skin against the pearly white of his belly. Then Minhyuk adds, almost mockingly: “Mr Yoo?”

Kihyun's entire expression turns to a storm for a brief moment. “You're one to talk.” He flips them both, and Minhyuk lets him. Doesn't suppress the sound he makes when Kihyun wrestles him into the mattress, either. “You blow hot, then suddenly cold -” His sentence truncates with a hiss, and he bucks into the hold Minhyuk suddenly has on his dick, an unabashed sound echoing in the room.

“I blow other things, too,” Minhyuk quips, eying the length in his hand. Lazily, he thumbs at the tip, smearing moisture down the shaft when he hums, “Wanna find out what?”

A look of bona fide annoyance carves itself onto Kihyun's features. “Your sex talk is shi - _ah_ , okay, yes, just do it already.”

Smug, Minhyuk runs his other hand down Kihyun’s ribs a moment longer - then catches him by the waist and inverts their positions so that Kihyun is flat on his back on the mattress. Minhyuk pulls away long enough to tug off Kihyun’s sleep shorts, then returns, hand drifting lower, grazing over his hip, tracing the curve of his flesh.

He sinks into a crouch, using the hand as leverage to push Kihyun’s thigh up, hooking it over his shoulder. Then he lowers his head, breath hot on the head of Kihyun’s cock. It jumps when he licks, experimentally; Kihyun groans and throws an arm over his eyes. “Hurry _up_.”

Minhyuk doesn't elect to answer. Instead he parts his lips and sinks down onto Kihyun’s dick, taking him in as far as he can go. It is a heavy, grounding weight in his mouth – Minhyuk moans around it, savouring the taste, hand wrapping around the portion he can’t reach.

Then he pulls off until only the tip is resting on his tongue, waiting, and then sinks back down, hotter, this time deeper. Quickly he picks up the pace, bobbing his head shallowly, his hand jerking in accompaniment.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kihyun curses, hand fisting in Minhyuk’s hair. Then, more emphatically, “ _Fuck.”_ His other is clawing in the mattress; teasing, Minhyuk’s free hand traces a path up Kihyun’s thigh and onto his hip, where it presses down. _Stay_.

He slows to an agonising pace, and relishes the sharp groan he earns when he pulls off altogether, the helpless buck upwards nonetheless. “ _Minhyuk_.”

He looks good like this, Minhyuk thinks. The sharpness is still there, but the ever-present bitterness has been dethorned somehow, like he’s fronting less, with his hair messy and cheeks flushed and eyes wild. Something stirs in his gut. Minhyuk feels it then, the ache for release, insistent like waves against a shore.

Kihyun notices. Wordlessly he rolls away, reaching for the third drawer of his bedside table. He opens it, and pulls out a bottle, uncapping it. Returns to Minhyuk, pulling the waistband of his sweats down, and pours out a liberal amount of lube, warming it perfunctorily between his hands.

Minhyuk catches his mouth in a kiss when Kihyun climbs into his lap. When a small hand finds his dick he makes a sound, helpless, that Kihyun swallows eagerly. The air builds, and it feels, as with everything between them, like a fight; Minhyuk takes hold of Kihyun, too, because if it is one then he has to win.

Kihyun is closer than he is, he knows. But it doesn’t register, not when his grip is tight and hot and wet around him, rhythm better than anything Minhyuk has tried before. He reciprocates in turn, and breaks away from the kiss to lick down Kihyun’s jaw again. Finds a spot on his neck to suckle, the knot low in his gut winding impossibly tight with each stroke, each tiny breathless noise, moaned right into his ear.

“I’m, _ah,_ ” Kihyun is gasping, left hand gripping the lean flesh of Minhyuk’s thigh so tightly he is bound to leave a mark, rhythm stuttering as his fingertips whiten. “I’m close. Minhyuk.”

Minhyuk splays his free hand over Kihyun’s chest, tugging at his nipple as he bites down into the milky, smooth flesh of his neck. It is only one more insistent stroke before Kihyun is coming with a shudder, his cadence faltering. When Minhyuk tries to replace his hand with his own Kihyun refuses to budge, so instead he guides them both on his own length, his hand around Kihyun’s.

Like this, it isn’t long before Minhyuk hits his own peak, orgasm cresting upon him white-hot and bright. When he opens his eyes, winded, he finds Kihyun looking at him with a crystalline intensity, a lock of hair falling into his vision.

Of its own volition his other hand comes up to brush the hair away, trailing briefly against the high line of a cheekbone. Kihyun’s breath catches, with something akin to surprise; and then the walls are crashing down upon him, and Minhyuk tugs his hand back in alarm, the weight of what he’s done beginning to call aloud. “Kihyun – I –“

Kihyun is slower to react, tumbling back against his bed when Minhyuk backtracks. His own face seems to have frozen somewhere between realisation and disgust, even as he haphazardly tugs a sheet over himself, tucking their thoughtlessness away from view, mouth drawn tight as he does.

“Kihyun,” Minhyuk says again, ignoring the way the come is tacking on his stomach and in his carelessly pulled up pants, his skin sticky with shame. He crouches, and retrieves his shirt from the floor, suddenly clumsy.

“I,” he mumbles, all at once overcome, “I’m sorry.” His gaze doesn’t leave the floor. Then Minhyuk turns, as if to leave, but stops mid-motion. Hesitates, waiting – for a response, maybe.

But none is forthcoming from the shrinking outline in the bed. Minhyuk clutches the fabric to his chest, nearly desperate with guilt, and bows his head, and goes, taking care to shut the door behind him.

-

-

 _Step - and - wave - and - kick, drag -_ Minhyuk stumbles, suddenly, watches his reflection in the mirror as he tilts violently out of sync, righting himself only when his other foot falls into place and he jerks back upright, one second from a fall.

“Hyung,” Changkyun says, immediately dropping the choreography. “Hyung, you good? Is your knee acting up again?”

Minhyuk flushes at the reminder of the last time he’d used his knee as an excuse. Hastily he waves the younger off. “I’m fine,” he says, “Just a little tired.”

Skeptically, Changkyun tilts his head, as if to call his bluff. Hurriedly Minhyuk looks away, back towards the walls of the studio - and makes eye contact with Kihyun, who is watching him from the back of the formation, expression blank in the reflection.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minhyuk chirps again, brightly enough to fake it. “Can we take five? I think I need to stretch my leg out a little.”

Hyunwoo gives him a weird look, but nods. “Let’s take a break, then,” he nods, and Minhyuk silently thanks the fact that they’re all drenched in sweat for the quick escape.

Heading to the side of the mirrors, Minhyuk drops into a leg stretch to back up his story, head swimming with too many thoughts for him to keep up. He misses it when Hyungwon nudges into him and hisses, very unsubtly, “What the hell is going on with you?”

Minhyuk dips his head as low as possible, his stance folding flat. “Nothing,” he says, unconvincing.

“You and I both know I’m not buying it,” Hyungwon says, pausing to take a long drink of water from his bottle. Minhyuk can hear the questions heavy in his tone, and feels sorry, too, because Hyungwon knows everything that goes on with him. Always has.

“I know,” Minhyuk replies, more clearly than he usually would. It isn’t the first time in the past week Hyungwon has prodded him for an answer. And he had considered telling him, really - but then what of it? “But you know I can’t tell you, this time.”

He can’t do that to Kihyun.

Hyungwon sets down his waterbottle, and sinks into a sit against the wall, bringing his upside-down face into Minhyuk’s periphery. When he speaks his voice is low, barely audible to Minhyuk even in the tiny space.

“This is the only thing you’ve actually, actively kept from me in like a decade,” Hyungwon pronounces, oddly solemn. “Min, I’m worried.”

Minhyuk finally stops pretending to stretch, and shakes out the leg, dropping into a squat position instead, arms hugging his knees to his chest. “I know, ‘Won,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the floor. “But I really can’t tell you. It -” He pauses. “It wouldn’t be fair if I did.”

Hyungwon wriggles over and wraps his arms awkwardly around Minhyuk, like a particularly amicable, sentient duo of string beans. “Okay,” he says, “If you’re sure, then I trust you. But you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Unbidden, Minhyuk suddenly feels the fire pricking behind his eyes, and blinks rapidly, alarmed. “Get off me, you massive overgrown bug,” he jokes weakly, hiding behind the back of a hand. “I’ll call pest extermination if you don’t.”

Suddenly, Hyungwon sinks his nose into Minhyuk’s hair, dropping a noisy kiss there despite the sweat that is matting his hair to his scalp. He pulls away, satisfied, even as Minhyuk lets out a shriek of consternation, clutching his hand to the affected area, wide-eyed. “You’ve _infected_ me,” he cries aloud, the moisture in his eyes forgotten.

Hyungwon rolls his eyes, but stands up, holding an arm out to Minhyuk. “I love you too, fuckhead. Now get your shit together.”

Minhyuk lets him pull him up. “Don't worry,” he assures, bumping into his friend’s taller frame with the borrowed momentum, “I will.”

-

_5\. Be Seen Outside Together_

Kihyun tends to wear things left first, then right. Minhyuk catalogues this somewhere in his mind as he watches him pulling on his socks one after the other, shifting his weight awkwardly from side to side in the _hyeongwan_. It’s maybe nine in the evening; late enough for them to avoid being mobbed, but early enough that they’ll have a good chance of being noticed.

Which is the plan, anyway. Minhyuk had initiated, this time, after receiving the eighth text in a row from their managers about how _promotions are ending and there’s still one more task for you to do._ So he’d given it some thought, pitching the idea and finer details, and all Kihyun had done was nod in assent, saying nothing the entire time.

He looks up just as Kihyun steps into his left boot, calf flexing as he shifts his weight onto the insole - and stumbles, knee buckling when his right foot leaves the ground with the difference in height.

Without a second thought, Minhyuk finds himself moving forward, catching Kihyun’s forearm in his hand. Kihyun glances up, and for a moment his expression hangs open, eyes wide and mouth slack with something strangely akin to surprise.

Then it is gone. Kihyun shutters, gaze back to the floor, and Minhyuk retracts his hand quickly. “Sorry,” he mumbles. It occurs to him that he says that to Kihyun a lot.

Maybe he should stop doing things that call for apologies, instead.

The silence is thick as Kihyun pulls on the other shoe, lacing it up. Privately Minhyuk wishes somebody - anybody - else was still around, but they’d all retreated into their rooms upon hearing that they had the evening free. And anyway, he knows he’s been putting off a number of things for far too long.

After Kihyun straightens up Minhyuk unlocks the door, waiting for him to head out first as he closes it behind them both. The other boy walks slowly, and Minhyuk fills up the quiet with babble, unable to bear the stifling air. “So I was thinking,” he says, glancing at Kihyun in the lobby as they wait for the lift, “We just have to be seen together, right?”

He doesn’t wait for a response he knows he won’t get as the lift _dings_ , and he follows Kihyun in, the false brightness on his tone turned up to max as he continues. “There’s a good bingsu place I know that’s nearish Hongdae. It’s nice. My treat!”

Kihyun exhales something that sounds almost like it wants to be a laugh. “In this cold?” he remarks, quietly disbelieving.

Minhyuk examines his profile as Kihyun stares rigidly at the join of the lift doors, unable to look away from the familiar, sharp line of his nose. Remembers kissing the tip, and flushes desperately. It’s his turn to look away when he tells the control panel, “What? It’s really nice!”

He misses the glance cast his way, devoid of hostility, brows gentle. “Okay,” Kihyun agrees, and when the lift doors slide open Minhyuk wonders if he imagines the light pressure on the small of his back ushering him out first, this time.

This deep into winter, the night air bites sharply, sinking its teeth into his exposed skin. Cars scream by across a nearby highway; Minhyuk fumbles a facemask out of his pocket, hurriedly hooking it over his ears and adjusting it onto his chin and nose. Looks at Kihyun, the tip of his nose reddening quickly in the sub-zero cold, tucking his chin into the scarf around his neck, and thinks, _Ah, he forgot_.

Minhyuk fumbles about in his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing over a spare, slightly crumpled but sitting otherwise pristine in the hygienic plastic wrapping. Kihyun turns to look at him, and for a moment it looks like he might protest, brows inching closer to each other as he looks at the item in Minhyuk’s outstretched hand.

“Just take it,” Minhyuk urges, waving it to and fro between two gloved fingers. In the darkness the light of a streetlamp slips and slides over the crinkling plastic.

Kihyun visibly loses an internal battle. “Okay,” he says to Minhyuk’s hand, taking a single step so as to be close enough to take the offered item. “Thanks.”

Minhyuk smiles, even if Kihyun isn’t looking to see it. “No problem.”

When Kihyun is done they resume their walk, taking a shortcut through a small park to get to the nearest train station. Minhyuk watches surreptitiously and copies as Kihyun casually approaches the gantries, tapping in and heading in a direction with a sense of purpose that belies the fact that they don’t do this often.

“Ah, wait,” Minhyuk calls, tearing his attention away from the signboard he’s consulting. Kihyun stops walking and turns to face him, waiting. Minhyuk grins as he races to meet him. “Line two,” he tells Kihyun, despite the fact that he most likely knows.

“I know,” Kihyun says. And then, low, “Why are you holding on to my arm?”

Honestly, he hadn’t noticed. Threading his arm into the loop of Kihyun’s elbow had occurred naturally. But Minhyuk improvises. “People will see and recognise us the closer we get to Hongdae,” he explains. “We should look cosy.”

Kihyun inhales deeply before replying. “Right,” he says, as they step off the escalator and onto the train platform. “Just don’t push it.”

When Kihyun gives, Minhyuk will take whatever he can. “Okay,” he promises, shuffling the two of them onto the train. Seoul, even at this hour, is packed; there is very little choice but to bracket Kihyun’s smaller form with his in the human crunch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, nose knocking into Kihyun’s forehead, arm bracing against a handhold against the sides of the doors.

Kihyun doesn’t look up. He seems to grow even smaller when he mutters, “It’s fine.”

Half an hour later they’re at the shop Minhyuk had in mind. They make their order - a single bowl, to share - and find a seat on the third floor, a low table tucked slightly out of the way, set beside wide glass windows stretching ceiling to floor. Minhyuk unwraps his scarf and pulls down the mask, and hears a harsh inhale of breath that turns to a cacophony of whispers when Kihyun does the same.

Spooning some bingsu to his mouth, Minhyuk glances in the reflection of the polished glass. Against the backdrop of the night, image distorted by glare of the ceiling lamps, he catches sight of a group of girls facing their direction. He leans forward, and catches Kihyun by the wrist, tugging lightly so they’re loosely touching, elbows resting on the table.

“What are you doing,” Kihyun deadpans, tone brooking no disagreement. He is beginning to tug his hand back when Minhyuk raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and dips his head.

“We’ve been spotted,” he mutters, then leans back as if responding to a shared joke, laughing. Kihyun’s tense hand relaxes in his. Impassively, he digs his spoon into his side of the bingsu, bringing it towards Minhyuk’s mouth. It makes its way to stop right in front of his lips, and all Minhyuk does is stare, bug-eyed.

“ _Aah_ ,” Kihyun says, expectantly. The spoon nudges forwards, then backwards, then forwards again. His eyebrows lift imperceptibly, a challenge.

Flushing under the weight of attention, and well aware their fans are watching, Minhyuk complies, opening his mouth and eating the bingsu. He barely registers the taste beneath the blood rushing in his ears, chewing on autopilot as Kihyun’s hand pulls away.

An unrepressed smile is slowly growing across Kihyun’s features. _He’s enjoying this_ , Minhyuk thinks, but can’t find it in him to resent the other’s amusement at his discomfort when the joy looks so good on him. Minhyuk is forced to tear his attention away from the dimples high in Kihyun’s cheeks at the sound of feet shuffling towards their table, a high, crystalline voice clearing.

“Ah, excuse me, but - could we get autographs?” It’s the girls from before, three of them; Minhyuk smiles automatically as he turns to face the group.

“Sure,” he chirps, unzipping his bag and rooting around for a permanent marker. Across the table from him Kihyun does the same.

“Have you guys been streaming our song?” Minhyuk hums to make conversation, scrawling his signature over the first girl’s phone case. She makes a noise of slight indignance.

“Of course!” she declares, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear before taking her phone back. “Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem, Kyungeun-ah.” Minhyuk winks at her before taking the notebook proffered this time, scrawling a short message and pausing to get the girl’s name so he can address it neatly to her.

Ara – as she tells him her name is – watches silently for a few seconds, then speaks. “Um, Minhyuk-oppa,” she starts, hesitantly, glancing at Kihyun and then Minhyuk. “Where’s – is Wonho-oppa here, by any chance?”

She sounds extremely apologetic to be asking; behind her, the third girl nearly buries her face in her hands, ears turning red. Doing her friend a favour, then. Minhyuk smiles reassuringly to show he doesn’t mind, and lightly pats her on the back of her hand. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, “But I can pass him a message if you want.”

Ara glances back to her friend, whose head shoots up, before ducking again in embarrassment. She shakes her head no, rather hurriedly. Taking the cue, Ara turns back, and smiles in thanks. “Um, no, it’s okay,” she says, taking the notebook from him with both hands and a small bow. “Uh, so it’s just – just you and Kihyun-oppa, then?” She asks, cautiously, looking between them both. Kihyun smiles mildly at her, nodding once in agreement as he takes her notebook and flips to the next page, writing a small message of his own.

Minhyuk bobs his head with much more enthusiasm, and leans in as if he’s letting her in on a secret. “Do you know why?” he chirps, in a stage whisper. Entranced, the three fans draw closer as well.

“Because we’re on a _date_ ,” Minhyuk confides, relishing how the three girls’ expressions all change comically to looks of surprise, then delight, before they start to giggle. He joins them, too, and even Kihyun spares them a grin, playing along.

“Don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Minhyuk adds, holding a finger to his mouth like it’s a secret. He winks, and they burst into peals of laughter again, agreeing enthusiastically before bowing and taking their leave, waving until they’ve gone down the stairs and left their sight. Their excited chatters carry up the stairway and echo towards them for a while; Minhyuk cannot help but smile to himself as he digs into his side of the bingsu, thinking to finish it before it melts any further.

“You’re good at that,” Kihyun says, after a while, thoughtfully. Minhyuk glances up from the hole in the ice he’s been excavating.

“What?” he asks, confused.

Kihyun gestures towards the direction of the stairs with his spoon. “Fanservice,” he says, vaguely.

Minhyuk pulls his mouth tight at the corners. He isn’t sure what to make of that statement. Instead he elects not to say anything, focusing his energy on the bowl between them, Kihyun doing the same.

They continue like this in silence until it’s empty. Wordlessly Kihyun stands up, bringing the bowl in the tray over to the collection point. Minhyuk, too, stands up, meeting him halfway, and together they proceed down the steps, pulling their masks back on as they head out of the door into the cool night air.

A glance at his phone reveals the time to be approaching eleven. Minhyuk calls after Kihyun, who is already heading back the way they had come, seized by a sudden melancholy. “Kihyun. Are you – are you tired?”

From where he has come to stand still a few metres away, Kihyun gives him a funny look. “Not really, I guess,” he replies, very evenly. “Why?”

Minhyuk makes a decision. “Can we go to Cheonggyecheon?”

Kihyun could say no. He could ask why, and then Minhyuk would have to come up with a reason that didn’t sound hollow to himself, one that didn’t make it painfully obvious that in spite of everything, he was enjoying the normalcy, how being near each other was, for once, an end in itself. The way he didn’t want the illusion of intimacy to end.

He could refuse, and Minhyuk would have to play it off, and they would go back, and they would move along with their lives, and they would never be in this space ever again. He could be free of Kihyun, more or less, the way he’d been before this whole mess had started.

But god, he doesn't want to be.

“Sure,” Kihyun says slowly, after a pause. “Lead the way, then.”

Cheonggyecheon is nearly devoid of anyone at this hour, save the odd couple or so strolling along the stream, visible only when they wander into the small pools of streetlight. Minhyuk doesn’t think about how, from the outside, they don’t look any different from the rest of the demographic.

The two of them had barely talked the entire way there. They don’t talk, now, strolling idly side by side in silence as the stream burbles by, filling up the air with its constant murmuring. It keeps them company. Eventually Kihyun starts humming under his breath, and Minhyuk can almost pretend they don’t hate each other, can bear each other’s company. The thought is surprisingly warm. He holds on to it, and steels his resolve.

They walk until they reach a recess under a bridge, a miniature art exhibition lining the sides, each painting lit by a small lamp. Large, amphitheatre-style steps lead down from the recess towards the water, and it is here that Minhyuk suddenly stops, his scuffing footsteps leading Kihyun to do the same.

“Kihyun,” he says, doing his best to be brave, “Can I talk to you for a bit?”

Shoulders tense, Kihyun whips around and tilts his head up to look at him. The only word Minhyuk has for his expression is _scared_ , and his voice is heartbreakingly small when he says, “I want to go home, Minhyuk.”

It is so strange that _home_ is one that they share, when it is also a place where Kihyun wants to go to be free of him. Minhyuk fesses up to the hand he has in all of this. “I can’t make you stay, Ki,” he says, softly, “But give me – give me a few minutes, and then if you want to go after I won’t stop you.” He pauses. “Please?”

Kihyun looks at him for a while, the fear from before now safely tucked away beneath a veneer of bravado and some scorn. “Fine,” he mumbles, arms crossed across his chest. “You have two minutes.”

“Thank you.” Minhyuk takes a tentative step closer. “First of all, I want to apologise. Properly. For real, this time.” He barely breaks the sentence to breathe, afraid of what Kihyun might say, might think. Afraid that he’ll lose his courage and the chance to set things right, for good.

“I’m sorry for – for always making light of you, and acting like you were someone I couldn’t stand being around when really I had no reason to feel like that, and – and for hurting your feelings because I thought you didn’t care, either. I’m sorry I didn’t respect you like I should, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realise that I’ve been a complete dick to you this whole time.” He pauses, and licks his lips nervously. “You don’t deserve that.” Then, “Never did.”

Kihyun wraps his eyes tighter around himself, and doesn’t look at Minhyuk when he asks, “Why did you do it, then?”

Minhyuk hesitates. He doesn’t want to make excuses, but still. Three years is a long time to be unkind to someone. “You were nice to everyone else but me,” he mumbles, feeling juvenile. “So if you were going to dislike me I thought I could just dislike you back, first.”

“When did I ever –” Kihyun’s voice pitches high with exasperation, and echoes in the large, dark space. It sings around them for a while, ensconcing them in a ghostly sound. “Please, Minhyuk. You would’ve never have been nice to me if it wasn’t for Hoseok.”

“That’s not –” Minhyuk starts, then reels. “Wait. How did you even know that?”

Kihyun levels him with a heavy stare. “You’re not doing yourself any favours,” he mutters. “Hoseok is basically my best friend, Minhyuk, he knows everything that bothers me.”

The pieces slide into place so rapidly he gets whiplash from following the way they move. _Oh._

“Did you – did it always bother you that I – that I was like that? How long did it – how long was it a thing?”

The barely visible quiver of Kihyun’s brow tells him all he needs to know. His heart sinks into his feet when he says, “Kihyun, you didn’t – why didn’t you _say something_ before, I’ve been one-sidedly being a dick this whole time –“

“You play with feelings, Minhyuk. All the time.” Kihyun sounds tired, but his voice is flat. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you didn’t intend to mean it?”

Minhyuk bristles. Wants to say, _so do you_ , wants to deny the accusation, but even as his mind races to think of a comeback he acknowledges that it is many parts true. And he isn’t trying to win here. It is finally becoming clear to him that Kihyun isn’t his enemy. Or shouldn’t be, at least.

He takes a step closer, watching Kihyun as he does. “You’re right,” he says, instead, “I fucked that up, too.”

Kihyun briefly looks taken aback at the admission. He tugs at his scarf once, twice, then says, “Is it my turn to ask you a question, now?”

A small hope blooms in his chest at the hint of a dialogue. He nods, head dipping ever so slightly as he does.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Minhyuk purses his lips. He doesn’t have to think when he says, “Because I wanted to.”

Kihyun shakes his head, stubborn. “You ran away, after.” He pauses, then adds, “The other time, too.”

Minhyuk flushes all the way down to his toes at the reminder of what they had done. He confesses, very quietly, “I was scared.”

“Scared of what, Minhyuk?”

Sometime during the conversation they have come to stand only a foot or so apart. Minhyuk digs his fingers into the edge of his puffy bomber jacket when he realises aloud, for the first time, “I was afraid – afraid that you would reject me.”

Kihyun is so still he looks like marble, lit unevenly by low warm light. “Reject you?”

“I didn’t know,” Minhyuk whispers, clear in the still space between them. “I thought that if you thought I actually cared about you, you would – you could take the chance to hurt me first.” He rubs at an eye, tiredly. “I’m not excusing myself, I’m just. Just letting you know, I guess.”

He isn’t marble. On his neck, peeking out from his loosened scarf, is the faintest remnant of a bouquet of colour. Kihyun’s mouth opens, then closes, before he says, “I understand.” Adds, softer, “I’m sorry I gave you that impression, too.”

Suddenly overcome by emotion, Minhyuk feels exhausted. He wants to go home and climb into Hyungwon’s lap and cling to him and sob for years and never have to face conflict ever again. Equally, he hates the way Kihyun is still standing there, looking lost and small and cold.

“Kihyun,” he blurts, suddenly, “Can I hold you?”

Kihyun is visibly stunned. He casts a wild gaze around them before turning back to Minhyuk and saying, confused, “Nobody’s watching, Minhyuk.”

He bites his lower lip to keep it from quivering. “Exactly,” he says, “I don’t want them to.”

A change comes over Kihyun’s face, every single one of his features softening in accord. He steps in towards Minhyuk so rapidly that he nearly collapses into his grasp. When they touch Minhyuk clings back desperately, arms tightening around Kihyun’s waist, nose sinking into his snow-cold hair. “I’m sorry, Ki,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Kihyun’s voice is muffled by the down of Minhyuk’s coat when he chides, “I get it. You can stop now. We both were idiots, it’s fine. We can put that behind us now. It’s okay.”

Then he pulls away, and is peeking up at Minhyuk now, eyes shiny. “Just tell me I’m not – I’m not wrong in thinking it meant something,” he breathes.

Minhyuk looks at him, dumbfounded, and feels his heart seize in his chest. Quietly, he confirms, “You’re not.”

Kihyun kisses him.

For the first time, Minhyuk lets himself melt into it, eyes fluttering shut. Kihyun’s nose is cold against his cheek, and it makes him laugh softly against his mouth, arms locking tightly around his waist to hold him, bring him closer still.

“Stop laughing,” Kihyun mumbles, biting his lower lip in punishment. “We’re having a moment, here.”

With effort Minhyuk stifles his giggles, licking into the kiss apologetically. “Nose – cold,” he says by way of explanation. One hand traces its way to cradle Kihyun’s jaw, and he holds him like this, deepening the kiss before he lets go. Like before he is unable to help the way he runs his fingers through Kihyun’s hair, only this time, he doesn’t deny himself the privilege.

Then Minhyuk sneezes violently, a loud, honking noise that ricochets off the walls around them.

“We should go now,” Kihyun laughs, fishing a tissue out of his pocket that Minhyuk accepts gratefully. When he’s done he reaches out a hand that Kihyun takes after some skeptical inspection, earning him a whine and a light shove, cackling all the way.

But they settle quickly. Minhyuk swings their joined hands, content in the burgeoning warmth unfolding in his chest, tracing the path they had taken down to the bridge.

“Home?” he asks, relishing the sound of the word in his mouth, the way it rolls off his tongue.

Kihyun smiles, broadly. “Yeah,” he agrees, “Home.”

_@514hamzzishark omg omg look at these screenshots from the cooking vlive… look how minhyukkie looks at kihyunie ARGH!!!_

_[img1] [img2] [img3] [img4]_

_Replies –_

_@yookihyun4ever omg min is in love help @kihyukno1fan @puppycatlovesshark HELPPP_

_@minhyukkiis UM HELLO MY OTP???_

_@grassyboy [hearteyes emoji] [hearteyes emoji] [hearteyes emoji] [hearteyes emoji]_

> _@hyungwon_isnt_real I don’t see it I think he looks normal actually_
> 
> _@notyookihyun really? I think he’s clearly smitten_
> 
> _@hyungwon_isnt_real no he really isn’t he looks at everyone like that_
> 
> _@notyookihyun you say that like you know minhyuk well_
> 
> _@hyungwon_isnt_real why wouldn’t I im a monbebe_
> 
> _@notyookihyun aren’t u a hyungwon stan though?_
> 
> _@OfficialMonstaX no I just think this username is funny (deleted)_
> 
> _@hyungwon_isnt_real oh fuck nobody saw that_
> 
> _@notyookihyun LSKFH232390RJEFJE09EJTE_

_@mbbyeongwonhi are the OPs in the thread above okay?..._

“Minhyuk,” Hyunwoo says severely, coming into the room, “Our managers have a word for you.”

Minhyuk looks up from where he definitely isn’t sitting on his phone, pretending it doesn’t exist. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, immediately, ignoring the almighty snicker Kihyun lets out from next to him. “I have never done anything, ever, in my life.”

“Screenshots exist, Minhyuk,” Hyunwoo sighs, pinching the area between his eyes and shaking his head. “Bring your phone, we’re changing the password and logging you out permanently.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Minhyuk pleads, with wide eyes. “Monbebe will die without my beautiful face. They’ll never live if I don’t provide them with sustenance!”

Impossibly, Hyunwoo’s features darken further. “Maybe you’re the one who must perish,” he mutters. “I’ll pitch it to the managers.”

Minhyuk casts a desperate glance back to Kihyun, only to find him videoing the whole thing, waving cheerfully when Minhyuk looks in his direction. “I’ll post pictures of myself on your behalf,” he sings, cheerfully. “They’ll never notice you’re gone.”

“You’re an asshole,” Minhyuk complains, tugging so Hyunwoo halts in his task of carting him off. “You’re an asshole and you’re out to get me and you enjoy seeing me suffer.”

Kihyun smiles sunnily, tapping away on his phone. “But you like it,” he hums, victoriously. “You really, really do.” Melodramatically, he leans backwards into a mock swoon, hand fluttering over his chest. “You like _me_.”

Minhyuk opens his mouth to object. Closes it. “I hate it when you’re right,” he says, eventually.

Kihyun's eye crinkles deepen. “No, you don't,” he sings, crossing his legs on the couch.

Impatient, Hyunwoo is manhandling Minhyuk, dragging him by his collar out of the door. He pauses only long enough to allow Minhyuk a final word.

“No,” Minhyuk admits, not repressing the smile overtaking his mouth. “I don't.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked - it always brightens my day. And I hope it brightened yours. x


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